


The Tale of the Prince and the Warrior

by daienkaixoxentei



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, aokise - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daienkaixoxentei/pseuds/daienkaixoxentei
Summary: Aomine was a seasoned warrior with a strong, unrelenting instinct for survival, and the fact that he was still standing tall after his years of hardship proved as universal evidence to support this fact. And anyway, nobody would have taken a look at his physique, his obvious mastery, and dared to declare him a poor fighter. Perhaps that was why, even after taking the dragon into account, the fact that this flimsy prince, so delicate and sheltered and vanilla, somehow managed to remain calm and confident despite the looming threat of his blade was an odd realization that intrigued him in such a way that he was nearly breathless with vigor. And the buoyant promise in his words, along with the definitive bite in his sharp tongue only served to enamor him further. “If you move, you’re sure to die, Aominecchi.” Kise Ryouta is a prince with a gift bestowed from the heavens above, and Aomine Daiki is an assassin hired from a rival Kingdom to kill him. Things do not go according to plan, and chaos inevitably ensues. Fantasy!AU, Dragons!AU, Royal!AU AoKise, with some definitive MidoTaka, and a dash of MuraHimu and KagaKuro on the side!





	1. A hill forgotten by the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this is my _second_ multi-chaptered AoKise fic, and I'm very excited to begin writing it! ^0^ This will be a lot different, and longer - currently I've envisioned it to be twenty chapters but it's likely to fluctuate. The genre is also completely different, more Romance/Adventure than Angst/Mystery, but that's not to say there ISN'T at least a certain degree of angst... kukukukuuu... anyway this first chapter is a bit short because I just wanted to make it easier for you guys to weave in through the lines and see whether you find something you like (please do like my humble fic, please i'm desperate) but the following chapters are likely to be longer ^_^ If you liked it, please do review and kudos~ Here you go:

* * *

 

 

They stood at an impasse, a fierce clash of ethereal blue burning into twin orbs of bright gold. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that the fabric of their respective articles of clothing seemed to call out for air, and their lips were mere inches apart – so close that the slightest of movements might have resulted in a kiss, and yet there could not have been a situation more hostile for both Aomine Daiki and Kise Ryouta.

Aomine wore a snarl that would have stopped the bravest of warriors in his tracks, and had a katana pressed against the blonde’s pale, exposed neck – the blade so evidently sharp that any gentle pressure would have certainly resulted in the latter’s demise.

Still, it was Kise that wore a smirk as he regarded Aomine with a definite cat-like mischief, eyes twinkling with triumph behind his long lashes. The small space between them was charged with electricity, danger, and a lingering, lasting taste of _mortality_ that shook them both to their innermost veins, all heightened by the immediacy of the sword pressed against Kise’s neck, and yet the blonde flaunted a cheeky grin, as if certain that he’d won.

Perhaps it was due to the dragon poised at Aomine’s back, its sharp fangs mere inches from the back of his throat; the scaly frills of its collar tickling his nape as it inhaled and exhaled heavily.

“If you move,” Kise crooned gently to a very tense Aomine as the dragon growled lowly, tilting his head so that the long blonde hairs framing his face fell to a side, “you’re sure to die, _Aominecchi._ ”

He spoke the last word with a hint of defiant slyness, perhaps hoping to provoke the other, and though the fact that the blonde knew his name startled him, Aomine was a seasoned warrior with a strong, unrelenting instinct for survival, and the fact that he was still standing tall after his years of hardship proved as universal evidence to support this fact. And anyway, nobody would have taken a look at his physique, his obvious mastery, and dared to declare him a poor fighter.

Perhaps that was why, even after taking the dragon into account, the fact that this flimsy _prince_ , so delicate and sheltered and _vanilla,_ somehow managed to remain calm and confident despite the looming threat of his blade was an odd realization that intrigued him in such a way that he was nearly breathless with vigor. And the buoyant promise in his words, along with the definitive bite in his sharp tongue only served to enamor him further.

_“If you move, you’re sure to die,_ Aominecchi _.”_

Slowly, Aomine came to his senses, and smirked back.

“I think I’m willing to take that chance,” he spat back wolfishly, eyes alight with equal parts menace and excitement, “ _your highness._ ”

 

* * *

He was a young boy, perhaps the newest among all the guards. Fresh, raw and naïve, he flaunted his shiny armor like a trophy as he stood at his post atop the city walls and watched sunset’s rosy fingers creep across the vast sky, coloring the world in hues of red and gold. The wind whistled through his neatly trimmed hair and across the majestic landscape of sand stretching out in every direction before him, for miles on end.

He took a deep breath, savoring the surreal sight, for whenever he was on guard duty, he felt like he was the king of the world – like nothing could go wrong for him.

In five minutes, he’d be dead.

Unbeknownst to the youngster, a cunning pair of navy eyes regarded him from under the hood of his armor’s helmet, biding his time properly. If scrutinized, it could have been discernible that the sword hanging from his waist boasted a different kind of craftsmanship than the weapons given to the guards that littered the high walls of Viridia at infrequent intervals. A tanned hand kept itself closed around the hilt of the sword, its fingers twitching.

_Wait till the sun sets,_ the man told himself mentally, _otherwise you might be seen._

He kept true to his word, silently counting down the minutes until the poor boy’s demise. If a more experienced guard had been at his post, then perhaps the disaster that was to fall upon Viridia could have been easily diverted. A professional might have realized that the physique of the man standing next to him was far too powerful to have been one of the same ranking and training as he, and perhaps even a sharper eye might have noticed the now thoroughly disgusting body rotting beneath a hastily dusted blanket of sand directly beneath the watchtower outside the city walls.

But how was the poor boy to have known? Was he to be blamed? Not at all, for not a soul had attacked Viridia – a haven of colors, they called it – in centuries. How was he to have known that the one night _he_ took guard duty, _everything_ was subject to change?

The sun disappeared beneath the horizon with one last flash of red, and almost immediately the sky began to darken. The crimson bled into hues of lilac and indigo, and far beneath the heavens, on that fateful Viridian watchtower, the young boy fell onto the hardened stone floor. As his blood stained the dusty white limestone beneath his twitching body, the guard standing next to him sheathed his sword quietly and jumped off the side of the tower. Using the darkness of the twilight as a blanket to cover his movements, he shimmied down the wall, careful not to disturb so much as a pebble, and landed on the sand below with a soft thud.

Still, he looked about his surroundings warily, wondering if he might have made a mistake. When all appeared undisturbed, he slinked off to the side and disappeared into the darkness cast by the night.

Two other guards sauntered by the area just moments later, not even bothering to look up at the walls to see whether there were any guards stationed at the post. They were holding onto each other and laughing, their cheeks alight with drunken ruddiness. Their mirthful cheeriness echoed off the walls and off the many military buildings littering the outskirts, straight into the beautiful princedom of Viridia itself, where the citizens appeared to all be out on the streets, walking with one another and enjoying the contagiously happy atmosphere of their idyllic nightlife. A haven of colors, a city that never sleeps… Viridia had many names, all of which it lived up to without fail.

Soon, the moon had risen overhead, bleaching the principality and the breathtaking mountaintop palace situated at its center to shades of black and white. The city nor its inhabitants seemed any less awake, but by the time a certain Aomine Daiki came to a halt in front of a particular building, exhaling a deep sigh of relief behind his helmet, the road he was on was surprisingly deserted. Still, he took a moment to take his bearings and look about the street before slinking up to the sliding door and rapping his fingers twice against the thin wooden screen, in a certain beat he was sure that the inhabitant of the house would recognize.

Exactly five nerve-racking seconds later, the screen slid open ever so slightly, and Aomine Daiki slipped in through the crack and into the darkness of the interior. The screen slid shut once more, and the resounding snap echoed off of the walls of the disparately quiet street before dissolving and getting lost forever among the musical happiness ringing throughout the other parts of the Princedom of Viridia.

 

* * *

A match was struck once, twice, and then a small fire broke through the darkness. A pale hand weaved its way through this inky blackness, lighting up the lanterns standing atop wooden stands throughout the room, and soon the place was lit up with a comfortably bright orange glow. Though its apparent modesty, Aomine Daiki knew the place to be more exquisite than its owner alluded it to be, and this was further proved by the softness of the tatami mats under his tired limbs as sunk down to his kneesrd to catch his breath.

Moreover, every piece of furniture in the room appeared to be made out of mahogany. There were several piles of woodblocks arranged neatly on low tables, and the room smelled slightly of dye underneath the scent wafting from the incense sticks burning in the corner. There was another screen at the back, open just slightly enough for Aomine to see a moonlit garden; he could hear the sound of running water, and the methodic tap of bamboo against wet rock.

“Woodblock printing?” He grunted, his voice like the first whip of thunder signaling the arrival of a tempestuous storm. “Tch, you’ve grown soft in this cozy little safehouse, _Midorima_.”

Midorima Shintarou sunk before the exhausted traveler into a cross-legged position, dressed in a simple but elegant gray yukata tucked into navy kimono trousers. He wore an expression of deep loathing on his face, and he peered disdainfully over the glasses on the bridge of his patrician nose at the worn-out Aomine.

“Fool,” he scoffed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the silk fabric of his pants, “this is hardly a safehouse.”

Aomine raised an eyebrow, and the green-haired man elaborated.

“The civilians have already taken notice of my presence as an outsider. They fear me, thus why this entire street is so visibly empty.” He huffed out a breath, as if dissatisfied by the aforementioned turn of events. He rambled on grumpily. “But I suppose that it were not for that, this entire mission would have failed before it begun, _nanodayo_.”

_His mission._

Aomine took a deep breath, but released it all in an exhilarated grin. It had been a while before he’d had some action, and he was enjoying his newfound flexibility to a measurable extent.

“So it _is_ true, then?” He asked of the man before him with a quiet sort of anticipation. “The prince here has a dragon?”

Midorima nodded solemnly, though not without a scowl. Aomine would have sneered if not for the severity of the situation – the man couldn’t feel anything without anger.  

“One of the legendary five.” He muttered ominously, shaking his head. “The situation could not be worse for our country, _nanodayo._ We are lucky that the prince has trained it to sleep at night like humans do, or all our attempts would be utterly futile.”

“One of the legendary five dragons.” Aomine repeated, feeling a certain excitement bubble up within him. He partly wished he would get to spar with it before carrying out his mission, just to see how long he might last, but he had direct orders from the crown… ones he absolutely could not disobey.

_“Do your duty, Aomine Daiki. The dragon prince must be stopped at all costs.”_

His mission… to assassinate the dragon prince, and exfiltrate the country with his companions without getting caught.

_Easy as pie,_ Aomine thought with a wolfish grin, _with the dragon out of the way, some sissy, sheltered prince wouldn’t be hard to get rid of, eh?_

“You should be setting out.” Midorima’s voice cut through the silence once more, sounding a bit anxious. “You never know when the guards you took out might be discovered, nanodayo.”

Aomine gave a bark-like laugh, shaking his head. “Damn unlikely. The military here has been lounging around for far too long to be wary of things like that.”

Still, Midorima had a point, and his anxiety was not without merit. If they were to get caught, then there would be a lot of turmoil suffered unnecessarily by a lot of innocent people.

Aomine tensed. Innocents did not have to get dragged into any of this, no they did not…

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, damn it…”

He stood up, slipping the hood of his helmet back down as he crept towards the door. At the last minute, he turned around to raise a hand of farewell to his comrade. He did not know it at the time, but contrary to their plans, both parties would not be meeting one another for a long _, long_ time.

 

* * *

Aomine crouched under the last sparse bush that offered him cover from the palace walls, the marble gleaming immaculately under the moonlight. He lay very still as he counted the number of guards stationed at the entrance near his position ( _One… two… three—no, never mind, the third one’s gone. Two, then…_ ). He had known prior to his arrival from the various reports sent by Midorima via messenger hawks that the prince’s residence was at the topmost tower of the castle, but even if he had not known, he realized that he would have figured it out.

Namely due to the dragon. A bit overwhelmed, Aomine raised his eyes towards the sky to observe the (hopefully) sleeping dragon perched atop the tower, silhouetted to black against the moonlight. It was humongous even from the distance, and even its closed wingspan was a good deal wider than the tower was thick. Anybody but Aomine might have relented out of fear at the sight.

But Aomine being Aomine, he did not falter whatsoever. After so long of boredom, after so long of having absolutely _no_ challenges, here was Fate screaming profanities down at his arrogance from the heavens above in the physical, tangible form of a fucking _dragon._

He absolutely loved it.

_Challenge accepted._

So thinking, he clasped the hilt of his sword and silently swept out of the undergrowth to eliminate the two targets and infiltrate the castle. He was quick, faster than a flash of lightning, and equally deadly. The guards barely had a moment to think before the steady strike of his katana crumpled them to the floor, lifeless and unmoving within seconds. It took the tanned man a few more seconds to heave the bodies back to the undergrowth, and only a moment to crack the door open and sneak in, all so discreetly that he did it without so much as disturbing the insects nesting in the sand at the tower’s feet.

The palace was dark and empty, but his footsteps were soft enough to be masked by the howling wind of the desert outside. Stealthy as a panther, he snuck into the shadows and crept his way towards the stairs leading to the tower, hand gripping his sword as a precaution to save face in the unlikely event of him getting caught by one of the sleepy guards. He was there in a jiffy, and couldn’t help but grin to himself as he begun to quietly ascend up the spiraling stairs, shaking with excitement (and perhaps… perhaps a tad bit of unease) for what was to happen next.

_“The dragon prince must be stopped at all costs.”_

Aomine narrowed his eyes as he arrived silently on the landing; a small circle of tiled space connecting the staircase and the door. He found it extremely odd that there were no guards stationed outside the prince’s chambers, but shrugged it off as a bizarre tradition. Perhaps the prince valued his privacy, perhaps the guards thought the dragon would be able to handle it in case of any intruders… whatever the case, he did not dwell on it any longer before crossing the landing and pressing his ear gently against the elaborate wood.

Nothing but silence came from within, and he gripped the doorknob and gently pushed the door open silently. He stepped inside carefully, carefully, and slowly shut the door behind him without so much as breathing. He did not hear any cries of alarm, nor any startled changes of breathing over the roar of the wind, and thus lowered his guard slightly.

This was, perhaps, his fatal mistake.

When Aomine Daiki turned around to take in his surroundings and locate the prince, he found him standing by the open balcony doors, dressed in lovely robes of champagne and wearing a mischievous smirk underneath his flowing blonde locks. Kise Ryouta lifted his eyes to meet Aomine’s, and a thrill passed through him when he met with the unhindered electricity within the prince’s golden eyes. He gaped at him, not knowing how to respond to the expression the blonde wore, one which suggested that he had known about Aomine’s movements for a very long time.

But Aomine recovered quickly, and in a flash he had traversed the distance between them, unsheathed his sword, yanked the blonde by his collar and had him pressed against the stone wall with his blade an inch from the prince’s neck. He might have succeeded in his mission if the blonde hadn’t spoken; the certainty in his almost amused voice startled the assassin, and his fingers stumbled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you know?” His voice was teasing and playful, if not a bit petulant, but Aomine had no time to consider the matter any further, for he suddenly felt a presence at his back, ominous and threatening.

Feeling the hairs on his neck rise straight up, he dared himself a look behind him, and nearly threw up a lung at the sight of his panicked countenance reflecting off of two rows of sharpened teeth. His body heated up as the dragon inhaled and exhaled through its wide nostrils; two eyes glared down at him over several scaly white frills unforgivingly, if not _hungrily,_ and he was suddenly very aware of how he, nothing more than centimeters of skin coating a cutout of meat, must look terribly appetizing to the legendary beast.

The prince must have seen his expression, because he laughed; a tinkling, happy sound that irritated him to no ends and jerked him back to reality. Fixating a snarl on his face, he flipped around and pressed the blade tighter against the blonde’s skin, still unable to wipe the smile off of his face but effectively managing to shut him up. Behind him, the dragon growled lowly, and it took all his strength to remain calm.

“If you move,” Kise crooned gently to a very tense Aomine, tilting his head so that the long blonde hairs framing his face fell to a side, “you’re sure to die, _Aominecchi._ ”

He spoke the last word with a hint of defiant slyness, perhaps hoping to provoke the other, and though the fact that the blonde knew his name startled him, Aomine was a seasoned warrior with a strong, unrelenting instinct for survival, and the fact that he was still standing tall after his years of hardship proved as universal evidence to support this fact. And anyway, nobody would have taken a look at his physique, and his obvious mastery, and dared to declare him a poor fighter.

Perhaps that was why, even after taking the dragon into account, the fact that this flimsy _prince_ , so delicate and sheltered and _vanilla,_ somehow managed to remain calm and confident despite the looming threat of his blade was an odd realization that intrigued him in such a way that he was nearly breathless with vigor. And the buoyant promise in his words, along with the definitive bite in his sharp tongue only served to enamor him further.

_“If you move, you’re sure to die,_ Aominecchi _.”_

Slowly, Aomine came to his senses, and smirked back.

“I think I’m willing to take that chance,” he spat back wolfishly, eyes alight with equal parts menace and excitement, “ _your highness._ ”

He acted on that assurance, and his blade did indeed press tighter into the blonde’s skin, but a millisecond later something grabbed him by the back of his armor and tossed him into a far corner of the room. He crashed into the wall painfully, but he felt an odd gentleness behind the action, for he realized upon sliding onto the floor that none of his bones were broken. The dragon huffed indignantly as he got to his feet, stunned beyond words but enraged nonetheless, as if it was appalled that Aomine might try such a ludicrous thing with it _right there._

He might have attacked the blonde again, but just then the strangest thing happened. The prince stumbled over to where the dragon had his head poked through the wide balcony doors and into the tower, and placed a gentle hand on its snout. Aomine watched in confusion as the dragon bowed its head obediently under Kise’s touch, and the blonde nearly yelped:

“Wait, _Colrath_!” He sounded a bit frantic and breathless as he scolded the dragon. “Don’t… don’t just hurt him, you know? I _need_ him!”

Aomine listened in disbelief. “Wait, you _what_?” He managed to croak out, and the blonde patted the dragon – Colrath, did the prince say? – one more time reassuringly before raising his hands in surrender and taking a few tentative steps towards Aomine, who really was far too stunned to do little more than stare at the blonde in incredulity.

“L-Listen,” he stammered as he approached him, all traces of mischief gone from his eyes only to be replaced with a solemn desperation, “I need your help, Aominecchi.”

Aomine’s jaw actually dropped as the blonde walked over to him and grasped his hand – the softness of his fingers were startling to his calloused digits – before pulling him up to his feet carefully. Kise Ryouta closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another, and then those startling golden optics were boring into him again, a bit calmer this time.

“It has to be you and me.” He continued in what he evidently thought was a soothing, reasonable voice, now beginning to tug Aomine over to where the white dragonhead was poking through the balcony doors. “So I need you to come with me, okay?”

When Aomine did not respond, Kise turned around to face him again, and with all the familiarity of companions who had known each other for years on end, cocked his head to a side and asked him sweetly, perfectly:

“Do you trust me, Aominecchi?”

Aomine just gaped at him, but in all honesty, who could blame him?

“What the _fuck_?”


	2. Quietly towards the wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter is absolutely MASSIVE. I haven't reread it at all, because I really want it to be up today! It would have been up sooner, but then several really strange things happened in constant succession, and I found myself overwhelmed by it all, but such is life... anyway, enough with my rambling! ^0^ I'm so happy by the response I got from the first chapter~ Thank you all for giving your kudos and commenting! I thrive on comments... (shoutout to those who dutifully did: TheAnderfelsOne, Imogen, mellisugahelena94, lafeeverte, Amezaiku and facecloud! I love you guys~)

* * *

 

 

In his lifetime of a little over two decades, Aomine Daiki had certainly seen and experienced his fair share of eccentricity. Particularly due to his given occupation, perhaps, his encounters with bizarreness were far more numerable than the average human. But never, not once in his entire existence had he been more thoroughly, inexplicably and _unbelievably_ stunned.

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?” He articulated a bit more scrupulously, continuing to glare at the unconcerned blonde in bewilderment and shock. “Why on _earth_ would I trust you? How do you even know my name?”

Kise frowned, as if off-put by his colorful language. If he had been in a better mental state, Aomine might have (or then again, he might not have) recognized the former’s status as a _prince_ and kept his speech mannerisms at an according level of politeness and civility. But as the case currently went, controlling himself from spewing profanities at the royal blonde was the _last_ thing on the swirling hurricane that was currently his mind.

He could do little more than gape as Kise shrugged his questions off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, and beckoned him forward to follow him. The dragon – supposedly named Colrath by the eccentric prince – weaved his head out into the open sky through the balcony doors, and slowly, almost _stealthily,_ removed its claws from the tower and took flight. Stretched out in the open, it was easily half as thick as the tower itself, and several times taller than he. Aomine watched dazedly as the dragon dipped low enough to allow Kise to jump onto its back and grab hold onto its white scales.

“I’ll explain later, you know!” He yelled over the sound of the flapping wings and the wind, “but right now you _have_ to come with me!”

It didn’t look like Aomine had much of a choice. Colrath stared at him with creepily intelligent yellow eyes, almost as if it was daring him to put up a fight. Aomine stared back equally distrustfully, for despite his initial confidence, the dragon was a lot scarier up close, and he didn’t think even _he_ would be able to do much against such a mighty beast.

 _Besides,_ Aomine thought, observing the blonde prince suspiciously as he scratched and stroked Colrath’s scales soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings to it, _this weirdo knows too much for me to allow him to get away, regardless of my mission—_

His mission! Aomine started, remembering that he had a task to be fulfilled on hand. He felt a bit queasy thinking of Midorima, who would certainly get in trouble if he did not manage to report back to him in time.

He clenched his fists by his sides. No matter how dire his circumstances, it was unlikely that the prince would let him get away. Plausibly, his best bet was to stick as close to him for as long as he could, and hope to assassinate him _somehow_ before daybreak, though the presence of the dragon made it very unlikely that he would be able to do so.

_I’m gonna have to risk it, somehow, damn…_

He gritted his teeth, and then clambered onto the stone railing before jumping down onto the dragon’s back, directly behind the prince (just in case he tried anything funny). Kise was pleased by this development, as he turned back to give Aomine a wide, sincere ( _thoroughly irritating_ , thought Aomine) smile, eyes alight with excitement, hair flying about in all directions as the wind rushed past them.

“Great!” He exclaimed cheerfully, turning around to face the vast, open sky ahead of them. Far, far below them, the buildings were as small as patterns in the sand. Aomine gripped the dragon’s surprisingly smooth scales nervously, and stared ahead at the great unknown, wondering where on earth he was being taken to.

_It doesn’t matter. I’m killing him the first chance I get._

“Let’s go, then,” the blonde leaned forward, and the dragon followed suit, softly emitting a metallic cry. Then, it dipped back its great head and flapped its wings, once, twice… and again, until it held a steady beat.

The legendary beast began to ascend, rising higher and higher into the chilly night sky until the entire city was a mere blur of shapes on the moonlit desert landscape far, far below them.

Aomine kept his eyes trained intently forward, squinting through the wind blowing by his face, trying to find clues as to where they might be heading. He highly doubted his chances of being able to return to the city in time to carry out the exfiltration.

_Midorima, use that fucking brain of yours and get out before it’s too late._

*******

_Aomine Daiki, have you failed me?_

He stood by the stone railing, in the full regalia of the southern royals; a velvety red cloak over a tightly-fitting tunic woven in colors of pure silk, an imposing sword sheathed in an impeccable leather thong with the engraved hilt gleaming silver and gold under the moonlight, and a startlingly lovely golden crown nestled in his red hair. His eyes gleamed red and yellow in the dark, and he wore an expression of displeased unconcern.

His lean fingers found purchase on the stone, tapping a nondescript pattern as he looked out over the castle balcony onto the remarkable country of Agartha – _his_ country. It stretched out along the coast for miles on end, and even from his high point atop the tower, he could not see the end. The avenue directly in front of the castle, paved in stone and wider than any river known to man, was ornately decorated with statues and fountains. Like their ruler, the people of Agartha were disciplined and orderly, and went to bed early and rose even earlier, thus why most of the streets he could see were empty.

While the Princedom of Viridia was famed for its beauty, the Kingdom of Agartha was famed for its advanced way of life, courtesy of their systematic and determined king. There truly were no countries that came even close to its magnificence.

Akashi Seijuro was renowned across the world as a menacing, powerful ruler, and though his people respected him to no ends, he did not rule over them using _fear._ He loved the people, and the people loved their king. There was nothing he would not do to ensure their safety.

He would wage a thousand wars for them without blinking an eye.

 _A thousand wars…_ If the night ended the way he suspected, a thousand wars might just be his last resort.

It had not been a mistake to dispatch Aomine Daiki on this particularly distasteful mission, of that Akashi was sure. Aomine might have been an outsider, but he was perhaps more loyal to the crown even than people born and raised in the kingdom itself. Yet, he could not shake this disconcerting sensation of unsettlement… the plan should have gone smoothly, and if all was well, a messenger hawk would arrive in an hour or so, carrying the news of his soldiers’ arrival at dawn.

But despite the flawlessness of their arrangements, Akashi, a man who prized his instinct above all others, was close to certain that their meticulous plan had failed. Aomine Daiki, his most trusted warrior, had failed him.

He was disrupted from his reverie by the sound of footsteps. He did not have to look back to know who it was.

“Ara ara, your Majesty, if I may ask,” Mibuchi Reo, his most trusted advisor, spoke softly and quietly, and he could hear the swish of fabric as the man sunk low into a respectful bow, “are you feeling unwell?”

“Your concern is unnecessary, Mibuchi,” he responded in a silky voice that cut through the silence of the night, “I did not find it absolutely needful to rest on such an important night.”

Mibuchi remained silent for a few moments before continuing. “They should be back soon,” he murmured, taking a step closer to the royal though he still remained a respectful footstep behind, “should they not, your Majesty?”

Akash smiled to himself, though the expression did not quite reach his eyes. “Aomine Daiki and Midorima Shintaro will not be returning home tonight.”

This must have startled Mibuchi, for he did not respond for almost half a minute. Akashi could imagine the stunned expression on his advisor’s face when he struggled to string his words together, next.

“M-May I ask why, your Majesty?” He spluttered out a bit worriedly. “Is that not going to prove to be detrimental to us?”

Akashi remained silent for a long time, keeping his expression impassive as he observed his country through his sharp eyes. Neither party spoke for several minutes, and then the king spun around, his cloak swishing after him regally. He begun to walk towards the doors, tucking his hands behind him as he went.

“Wake my elite guard, Mibuchi,” he said smoothly, “and meet me in the council chamber. We have much to discuss.”

_Aomine Daiki, you have failed me. I just hope you have a legitimate reason for doing so._

*******

The pair had been traveling aboard the dragon for nearly fifteen minutes when Aomine decided that he could not afford to waste any more time. Viridia had long since disappeared behind the skyline, and Aomine was not sure that he would be able to find his way back if they went any further. The desert was a vast, terrifying place, and he would not like to be caught in the middle of it without any sense of bearing.

He eyed the prince warily; Kise Ryouta kept his eyes innocently trained on the far horizon, his hands clasping the dragon tightly. His blonde hair flew in all directions, as did the gaudy robes he adorned, flapping loudly in the rushing wind.

It was possible – no, _probable_ – that the dragon would rampage upon him if he killed the prince. He could and would most likely die under such a circumstance, but all the same…

Then, suddenly, it was Akashi’s voice echoing through his head, a soft but painful reminder engraved in the back of his mind, searing through his consciousness and grounding himself to the harshness of reality.

_“You are indebted to me, Aomine Daiki. Never forget your sins.”_

He took a deep breath. That was true. He owed his life to the king of Agartha, and he could not abandon such an important mission in the name of self-preservation. Aomine closed his eyes, steeling himself to his decision.

_“Never forget your sins, Aomine Daiki.”_

Perhaps this was his chance to repent for those sins. Aomine’s hand crept towards the sword rattling by his hip. He kept his eyes trained warily on the prince.

He could at least have the liberty of dying an honorable death. After a life of dishonor and depravity, it was the least he could do for himself.

His fingers gripped around the hilt, and before either Colrath or Kise could react, Aomine, with the honed skills of an experienced assassin, unsheathed his sword and pressed it against Kise’s neck.

It was fortunate for the prince that Aomine had the disadvantage of being airborne, and consequently could not find enough balance to perform the execution at once. Kise yelled defiantly before he could do anything else, and Colrath reacted immediately. It dipped low quite suddenly and abruptly, and Aomine was forced to release his fingers from Kise’s neck when he found himself suspended in mid-air; his breath rushed out of him as he began to fall through the sky.

A moment later the dragon rose upward again, and he landed with a painful thud atop its white scales, nearly slipping off of the side. His sword clattered harmlessly against its metallic scales – Aomine’s eyes widened when he noticed this – as he was forced to use his other hand to grip onto the dragon with all his might. In front of him, the prince was screaming something, and it was a second before he realized what he was saying:

“Dive, _dive_ , Colrath!” He screeched, and the dragon roared – the sound reverberated through the air, drowning out all the other sounds as it resounded over and over again in his ears. It lurched downward at a horrifying angle, and Aomine’s innards seemed to follow. It was all he could do to hold onto it as tightly as he could.

“ _There_ , there towards the outcropping!” Kise’s voice reached his ears over the roar of the rushing wind. Aomine could not fathom how the prince managed to see anything at all, for even _his_ sharp eyes could not discern anything but blurs of colors and shapes as the dragon rocketed downwards at high speed.

At length, the dragon slowed down to a less than supernatural speed, and he was able to make out the landscape somewhat. The world shifted from its horrifying diagonal tilt to a less dizzying horizontal level, and Aomine became aware of the fact that the dragon was preparing to land on top of an outcropping straight in front of them. He blinked, regaining his bearings.

_Now! Now’s my chance!_

Aomine gripped his sword again as the dragon stretched all four of his legs out and came to a screeching halt atop the rock. The two of them lurched forward abruptly, but Aomine was prepared. He tucked his knees underneath his body and rolled off of the dragon, somehow landing on his feet while Kise toppled onto the dusty rock in a messy heap.

He unsheathed his sword and leapt atop the dazed prince, who had been groaning and struggling to sit up. He might have succeeded in killing him, but unfortunately for him Kise had been expecting an assault. He was surprisingly strong, and a stunned Aomine found himself unable to move his hand when the blonde gripped his wrist with both of his hands before he could lower it to his neck.

His entire body was shaking with the effort it took him to hold Aomine in his place, but Kise grinned mischievously upon seeing the shocked expression on the other’s face.

“I _did_ tame a dragon, you know, _Aominecchi._ ”

Aomine had one hand free, and he managed to maneuver his fingers until he reached the blonde’s throat. Kise’s eyes widened when he closed his strong digits around his throat in what he knew must be an unbearably painful manner to the blonde.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed through his gritted teeth, “you’re _still_ a stupid brat of a prince, and that’s why you will die by my hands.”

Kise’s eyes were bulging, his face growing pale at an alarming rate. “C… Colrath…” he choked out, “Colrath will kill you”—

“I’m prepared for that!” Aomine growled, tightening his hold around the blonde’s neck. He heard the dragon growl ominously behind him, and swore silently. He had to hurry, or he would achieve _nothing_ before his death.

Suddenly, Kise’s fingers released themselves from his wrist, and they fell limply onto his chest as he struggled to breathe. Aomine thought this odd, but allowed it to pass; perhaps the prince was coming to terms with his death, and might have begun to accept that any resistance was futile. Whatever the case, it made his job easier; now he was completely free to use his katana to end the prince's life at his whim.

Or so he thought.

Indeed, Kise Ryouta might have died then and there if Aomine hadn't paid any attention to his actions. But he was already suspicious as to why the prince stopped resisting, and Aomine watched, almost against his will, as the prince weakly reached up towards his body and gripped the necklace hanging from his neck, which had somehow freed itself through his now frail armor sometime amidst his physical struggle.

Aomine swallowed when he saw the mischief glinting in the prince’s eyes. A part of him couldn’t help but privately appreciate Kise’s resilience, for it was no easy feat to maintain one’s confidence in the face of death and yet the prince was doing it as if it was second nature to him.

But for the most part, he was worried. Perhaps it had been a simple coincidence, or a bizarre act of luck on the prince’s part, but the fact that Kise had his fingers clasped around his precious necklace – like he _knew…_ like he knew _everything –_ was causing an undue amount of stress to the now trembling Aomine Daiki.

 _How!?_ He raged at himself internally, fingers unconsciously loosening themselves. _How does he know so much about me!?_

It occurred to him that Midorima might have betrayed them, but that still wouldn’t explain how Kise knew about his necklace. The only living person who knew about that was Akashi, and the king would sooner kill _himself_ than betray his own country. Besides, traitor was not a color that much suited Midorima Shintarou, either…

Then why? Why was it that Kise Ryouta seemed to know everything about him, including his most utterly hidden secrets?

Finally, his curiosity got the best of him, and he released his fingers from the blonde’s neck. Kise heaved in a breath, coughing and wheezing, and clutched his throat as if air was a real, tangible thing he could feel and he couldn’t get enough of.

Aomine scampered off of Kise quickly, anxious to get the prince’s hands away from the necklace, still wearing an expression of disbelief and fury. He kept his sword firmly pointed at the prince, though his eyes were on the dragon standing on its haunches behind him. Colrath, with its eerily human mannerisms, glared at him as if in betrayal, its claws sinking into the sandy rock as it waited for its master to give the command to kill him.

But Aomine wasn’t afraid of the dragon, anymore. He was more fearful of the one who had tamed it. He was actually, honestly terrified of the prince, though he would sooner volunteer himself as dragon chow than admit it out loud.

Kise kept panting heavily, and Aomine saw him wince as he gingerly rubbed his slowly bruising throat. However, when the blonde raised his eyes to meet his, Aomine was startled to find that there was _still_ no animosity within them, only a certain degree of guardedness, one that Aomine had to admit was fully warranted.

His skin prickled uncomfortably. Despite the fact that the desert was relentlessly cold during the night, his skin and cheeks suddenly felt inexplicably hot.

(Was that… was that _shame_ that he felt?)

(Impossible. Kise Ryouta was but one measly person. He had killed thousands without so much as flinching. What made this one, terrifying as he may be, so different?)

He shrugged the unpleasant feeling off, and tightened his hold around his sword. He took a deep breath to compose himself, and fixed his features with a steely, dangerous look before speaking in his scariest, lowest, angriest voice.

“You have _one minute_ to explain why you know so much about me.” He growled, walking forward until the tip of his sword was pressing underneath Kise’s chin, forcing the prince to look up at him.

He felt a ripple of annoyance upon seeing that Kise was _still_ smirking satisfactorily beneath his long bangs, golden eyes twinkling behind heavily hooded lashes.

“You’ve been saying that for a long time, Aominecchi,” he said in a hoarse, lilting whisper, “but I’m still very much alive, you know?”

Aomine’s eyes flashed angrily at the obvious insult, but he maintained his composure. “Fifty seconds left, _cunt._ ”

Perhaps Kise finally understood the severity in Aomine’s expression, and that he _really_ meant business this time, because the mischief fell from his face quite visibly. His smirk morphed into a solemn frown, and his features screwed up as if in deep thought. Several seconds of ominous silence passed between them, with Aomine feeling queasier and queasier with each passing moment.

_I need to know, damn it, I need to know…_

Then, hesitantly, with a look of trepidation on his face, Kise spoke up quietly.

“What if I told you that I really don’t know?”

Aomine’s scowl hardened, his displeasure evident from his face.

“Thirty-five seconds.” He snarled, and his knuckles cracked with how forcefully he tightened his fingers around his sword.

Kise inhaled sharply, raising his hands in surrender and pulling back instinctively. Aomine followed, keeping the point of his sword firmly pointed at the prince’s neck.

“N-No, really!” He insisted, now sounding utterly terrified. “I _don’t_ know anything, I really don’t!”

He swallowed, eyeing the sword nervously as he continued. “I only know your name, and that’s _only_ because someone told me, okay?”

When Aomine’s free hand protectively closed around the necklace – which was actually nothing more than an oddly carved piece of stone hanging from a string of leather – hanging from his neck, Kise’s eyes followed curiously.

“As for that…” He said, shooting careful looks at Aomine as he spoke, his voice marked with sincerity and full of his desire to assure Aomine of it, “I really, _really_ , had no idea it was important to you.”

Here, he averted his eyes slightly, pouting petulantly. His voice grew a tad bit stubborn. “I was just curious about why someone as tough as you would wear a necklace, that’s all…”

Aomine raised his eyebrows coolly, retracting his sword, because they were _finally_ making some sort of progress (also, he was perhaps just a little bit too pleased about being referred to as a tough guy – but still, dragon chow before admittance…).

Kise sighed in relief audibly, but Aomine did not allow him too much liberty.

“Who told you my name?” He asked harshly, expression still as cool as ever. Kise responded hurriedly, and Aomine was kind of pleased that he had finally started to take him seriously.

“My friend,” he said hastily, covertly and childishly raising his eyes to Aomine’s face, as if checking to see whether the man was still angry at him, “we… we’re going to go see her now. She’ll explain everything to you in detail.”

Aomine kept quiet for a moment, and then wordlessly and resignedly sheathed his sword. It seemed that he had no choice but to go and meet this _friend_ of his before continuing his mission.

Kise had gotten to his feet shakily. Aomine watched as Colrath lumbered over to him, nuzzling his snout against his hand. Dazedly, the blonde raised his arm and hugged the dragon’s head with one arm, snuggling against it as he stroked its scales. Again, Aomine marveled at how humongous the beast actually was, Kise was by no means a small man, and its _head_ stood just as tall as he did.

The dragon stared at him reproachfully, as if displeased about him hurting its master. Unfazed, Aomine scowled back, and—was that his imagination, or did the dragon just wink at him?

He frowned, feeling muddled, and instead turned his attention to Kise, who had now begun the task of mounting the dragon. Upon settling atop it comfortably, he turned appealing eyes to Aomine, and yelled hesitantly over the noise of the wind:

“You’re coming, right?”

Aomine stood very still as his emotions waged a mighty war within his mentality; confusion kept battling with a strange sense of regret and guilt, along with an inexplicable sensation of exhilaration and excitement, and neither was winning, nor was anyone losing except perhaps his own self.

At length, he called back a bit accusingly:

“You still haven’t told me why you need my help.”

Kise frowned again, thinking.

“I’m not the right person to tell you,” he admitted truthfully, “she’ll explain it to you better than I ever could, but let me just say,” here, he hesitated, and locked eyes with Aomine, his golden optics scouring Aomine’s navy ocean of tentativeness and doubt, as if searching for some sort of familiarity he could relate to.

“Let me just say,” he continued, taking a shaky breath, “that the fate of the world hangs in the balance, _Aominecchi_.”

_The fate of the world…_

The war in his mind raged on, but he decided that, at least for now, he would do as the prince asked. If it turned out that he was telling the truth, then perhaps it was crucial that he took this risk.

_“Never forget your sins, Aomine Daiki.”_

He shrugged off the guilt rising within him, and walked over to the dragon wordlessly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kise’s face light up happily, and he grew all the more befuddled. He had tried to kill him several times _already,_ and yet the prince looked happier than a child let loose in a meadow of sweets simply because he _agreed_ to one meager request.

Frowning unhappily, he mounted Colrath and settled in his position behind Kise. The two of them remained silent as the dragon once again spread out its magnificent wings and emitted a metallic cry before pushing its mighty legs off of the top of the outcropping, setting off yet another time into the vast night sky.

“Oh, yeah,” Aomine grunted out begrudgingly, unable to inhibit his curiosity any longer, “the fuck’s up with you calling me Aomine _cchi?_ What in damn hell is that?”

Kise tilted his head back, and Aomine was irked to see that he was grinning slyly. “Mm, I can’t tell you all my secrets, now can I, _Aominecchi_?”

Aomine scowled to himself. _What a piece of work…_

They remained silent for a long time, and then Aomine grumbled out sullenly:

“Stupid brat of a prince.”

He didn’t have to look at Kise to know that he was smiling. Aomine frowned, displeased by this development, but remained silent for the rest of the journey, focusing on the far horizon instead of the prince sitting in front of him.

_“The fate of the world hangs in the balance, Aominecchi.”_

_“Never forget your sins, Aomine Daiki.”_

_“Daiki… my lovely, brave son… you have so much of a burden to bear, so much to carry with you…”_

He swallowed, feeling increasingly nervous as his emotions waged their war within him. He wondered who on earth this mysterious _friend_ of Kise’s was.

_I guess I just have to wait and see._

*******

_Tut, tut, tut, tut…_

The servant boy’s footsteps clattered loudly as he ran up the marble staircase. He was feeling uneasy, and his concern was evident by the frown on his face as he ascended the tower.

_Perhaps his highness is just asleep after all…_

He skipped off the topmost step and onto the narrow walkway between the royal chambers and the stairs. He smoothed down his inelegant robes and approached the door, fist poised to knock.

_Rap! Rap!_

“Your highness?”

He paused, listening for a response.

“Your highness, may I come in?”

He felt nervous.

_Something… is wrong…_

“I apologize if it disturbs you, your highness, but I am coming in, now.” He called out a bit tentatively, and then, after another great breath, drew open the door and stepped inside.

For a minute, everything was silent save for the boy’s footsteps from inside the room, the occasional creak of a door and the swish of fabric. Then, the boy swept out of the room, and went flying down the stairs, his robe flying behind him as he went. His distress was clearly evident by the panic painted onto his features.

*******

Concordant to its name as the most beautiful city in the world, the throne room of the Viridian palace passed all expectations. Even under the moonlight, the stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colorful light over the immaculately white tiles, reflecting onto the exquisitely cushioned golden throne standing at the head of the room. The elite guard littered about the hall, murmuring to one another under the tension of the room.

Their leader, a certain Kasamatsu Yukio, stood tall and proud in his armor, blue eyes steely and cautious as he mused about the situation. Having known the prince on close terms since childhood, he found his highness’s sudden disappearance to be highly worrying. He kept his gloved hand trained on the hilt of his sword as he looked about the grand hall suspiciously. Soon after he discovered the dead bodies of his guards atop the watchtower, he had realized that the castle was devoid of Colrath, and had sent a servant to check up on the prince.

_Where are you, Colrath? Did you go with him, Kise? And on a night like this…_

_This isn’t like you, Kise…_

As if to answer his question, the younger servant almost immediately came running into the room, visibly distraught. His usually angry scowl deepened on his face, and he raised a hand to order his men to quieten down before turning to address the exhausted boy.

“What is it?” He barked, unnecessarily harsh due to worry.

“I-It’s just as you said, sir…” the boy panted heavily, bending down to hold onto his knees, “… Kise-sama is not in his chambers”—

“As I thought.” He muttered, his voice cracking through the room like thunder.

 _Woodblock-printer, my foot…_ He could feel his anger bubbling up from within. He had known ever since that suspicious character had moved to the city… he had always known, but Kise, that idiot, had insisted they give him a chance.

_Fat load of good it did him…_

Everyone in the room was deadly silent as they watched their brooding leader clench his fists by his sides ominously. Then, his face contorted in anger.

“Agarthan _scum_ , I have tolerated you for long enough… You dare to commit such a crime right under my nose…” He growled, blue eyes flashing angrily as he turned to face his men.

“Men!”

The guard assembled in a disciplined line, in perfect stance, saluting.

“Sir!”

“Our prince has been captured!”

A few of the soldier’s eyes widened, but they remained composed. Kasamatsu continued, now starting to pace back and forth in front of the line of men, hands tucked behind his back.

“Are you _half-wits_ going to let this criminal get away!?” He bellowed, evidently furious. “This… _bastard_ has taken our prince from right under our noses!”

The soldiers tensed, visibly angry. Some now wore a similar expression to their leader, and almost all of them had their clenched fists shaking by their sides. Kasamatsu observed this reaction contentedly, and nodded slowly as he regarded his men.

“No.” He said, his voice sinisterly quiet. “No, we won’t allow them to _fuck_ with _us_. We’ll show them what Viridian honor is _made_ of.”

Kasamatsu unsheathed his sword, raising it. His men gave a synchronized cry, following suit.

“Capture the Agarthan traitor, and throw him in the dungeons _now_ , before he escapes!”

*******

Kise’s _friend_ turned out to be a certain someone living in the shelter of an outcropping an hour’s or so ride away. They had passed a small village some ten minutes earlier, and Aomine assumed that this strange person must be associated with that village somehow, for there was no way a person could survive in the desert alone.

They stood in front of an entrance to a cave carved out at the rock’s base presently, where Aomine could hear and see a surmountable campfire of sorts flickering somewhere inside, close to the cave’s entrance. He deduced that this fire was present to discourage wild animals, as well as to provide warmth against the punishing desert climate when dark. Colrath curled up into a ball quite close to this entrance comfortably, evidently enjoying the comfortable heat. It yawned in a humanlike manner before nestling its great head within the crook of its arms and tail, and immediately went to sleep.

Aomine didn’t know what to make of this, so he turned to Kise in bewilderment. The prince shrugged, and then sauntered forward towards the somewhat ominous entrance confidently, as if this was a place he often frequented. When Aomine didn’t move, he stopped and turned back, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Aomine steeled himself, taking a somewhat shaky breath. Here was someone who seemingly knew a lot about him, and that could only mean that he was about to meet someone from his past.

_Someone from his past…_

Anything to do with the turmoil he suffered during the early days of his life left him feeling nervous, exposed and raw. He was understandably hesitant about meeting this supposedly knowledgeable _friend._

Taking another deep breath, he took a few steady steps forward and caught up to Kise. The two then ventured further forward simultaneously, and walked straight through the cave entrance and into the cavern within before Aomine could find the time or the energy to second-guess himself.

Almost immediately, he stopped in his tracks, and so did his breathing. Somewhere within the recesses of his mind, he registered Kise’s voice as it called out a cheerful greeting, but the voice that spoke in gentle response was what echoed within his head.

“What took you so _long_ , Ki-chan?”

If was possible to have his blood freeze and still somehow live, then Aomine would have been certain that that was his case, for his fingers suddenly felt so cold that he feared they might fall off.

She stood there in all her petite, pink-haired glory, a fully-preserved relic from the days gone by. She was a lot different now – much, much older, and she wore white robes, similar to the gaudy style of the Viridians rather than the colorful tunics the people from their old home used to prefer when it had still been standing. But Aomine had no doubt that it was still her, particularly because the sleeves of her robes were pushed back up to her elbows, and one of her arms bore the telltale scars of being burnt in a fire. These scars peeked out from under the loose collar of the robes, creeping their way up her fair-skinned neck almost up to her chin.

Her face was gaunter now, more refined and mature, but she wore the same gentle smile of years gone by, her eyes as coolly intelligent as it had been when they were children. Even back then, her eyes had had the power to reach within the crevices of his soul and lay out all his cards before him, but now that she was older, it seemed that this ability had increased tenfold.

“Hello, _Dai-chan_ ,” Momoi Satsuki smiled at him, but her eyes were cold (and Aomine couldn’t blame her, not after what he did to her, and… and to everyone else…), “you’ve been causing trouble to Ki-chan, I see.”

Somewhere in the background, he heard Kise’s grating voice ( _“Aah, yes, he's already even tried to_ kill _me, you know?_ _”)_ and the irritable sound jerked him back to reality. He blinked, but his voice was hoarse when he responded.

“Satsuki…” he swallowed, feeling his throat close up with guilt, “you survived… you survived _that_?”

Momoi ran her fingers over the scars on her arm gingerly, as if the recollection still caused her to reminisce the pain. Her face grew sad, and she spoke softly in response.

“I… I was the only one who did.” She said quietly and a bit dreamily, more to the dusty ground than to him. “The voices, they told me to get out, so I managed it in time…”

He wanted to beg for her forgiveness, but he didn’t know where he should even begin. Instead, he spoke a bit hesitantly, skirting around the topic. “The voices still speak to you?”

She smiled again, softly now. “The voices are a part of me, Dai-chan. I can’t escape who I am.”

A tense, uncomfortable silence settled over the cave. Aomine took this opportunity to observe the place: there was nothing much to it aside from the blazing fire by the entrance, the dusty bed, a few cupboards, and, perhaps most curiously, a lone, lit candle sitting in the middle of a creaky table in the corner. Kise stood next to him by this table, wearing an expression of petulant suspicion, and he spoke abruptly and stubbornly, breaking the thick tension like butter being cut with a knife:

“ _Hey,_ that’s not fair,” he pouted, “I want in on this secret, too, you know?”

Aomine scowled, losing all the dazedness within him at once only to be replaced with the annoyance he felt for the prince. He rolled his eyes, and Momoi laughed lightly.

“Don’t worry, Ki-chan,” she said, sounding more like her usual cheerful self, “it’s not important. Ahomine here will probably tell you when the time is right.”

“Hey!” He snapped irritably, getting caught off-guard by the inexplicable familiarity of the situation. “Who’re you calling _Aho_ mine?”

Kise grinned at him cheekily. “Can _I_ call you Ahomine, Aominecchi?”

Aomine frowned, feeling overwhelmed by the pair’s combined friendliness and not knowing how to respond whatsoever. His cheeks heated up, much to his infuriation. “C-Can we get to the damn point?” He snapped out, scowling deeper.

“Right.” Momoi said a bit solemnly, rolling her sleeves down until the scars were (mostly) hidden from sight, as if metaphorically hinting that, like everything to do with Aomine’s past, he was to tuck it away behind his sleeve, saving it for later. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes: when they reopened, they were shining with a strange, heavy sort of light.

“You,” she said, pointing to Aomine, and then to Kise, “and you, you have a job to do. Without your help, we’re all going to die.”

Aomine almost groaned. “I got _that_ already,” he grumbled impatiently, “but _why_?”

She closed her eyes again, and when she took a deep, shaky breath, Aomine was struck by a sudden sense of familiarity: back when they had been younger, she used to take the exact same breath when the voice spoke through her body. Then, she shuddered, and when she opened her mouth, her voice sounded far-off and much, much more powerful than her usual girlish tinkle:

 _“the earth shall crumble within their wake_  
with the battle they bring the halt of daybreak  
the downfall can be stopped by the prince alone  
with a gift that is cursed”—

Here, she frowned, and spent a few moments shaking her head back and forth, as if she was straining against something. A second later, she opened her eyes and blinked several times, though she was still frowning.

“That’s all I’m getting,” she said, “the rest is… fuzzy, like it’s buried beneath a rock or something, I can’t quite make it out…”

Aomine had felt a strange sort of trepidation upon hearing those words emanate from Momoi’s mouth, but he couldn’t quite understand why they were so significant. He narrowed his eyes at her confusedly.

“Was that a prophecy?” He asked muddily.

_The downfall shall be stopped by the prince alone, with a gift that is cursed…_

Suddenly, he realized what it meant. Something big… something really bad was going to happen, and the only one who could stop it was—

“See, this is why I couldn’t let you kill me, Aominecchi,” Kise said chidingly, as if it was perfectly normal to speak such a sentence.

He scowled at the prince. “Whatever, stupid brat of a prince,” he muttered, “you win.”

Kise grinned happily, clapping, and Aomine couldn’t resist a smirk of his own upon seeing the prince’s inexplicable cheeriness. Really, he was like a stupid, immature child more than anything else. The dragon probably tamed _him,_ not the other way around.

Exhilaration and excitement had won out, amidst all the other raging emotions. He clenched his fists in anticipation as he considered the prophecy one more time.

Aomine sighed a bit exasperatedly as Kise continued clapping, Momoi laughing at his antics in the background. Already, he was this familiar with the idiot…

_Really, what a piece of work…_

He turned back to Momoi a bit seriously, and Kise’s clapping subsided.

“You said that the rest of the prophecy was fuzzy. Why?”

Momoi smiled slowly, as if pleased by the question. “You’ve gotten a bit smarter, Dai-chan. Very good.”

Aomine scowled, and she continued, frowning in concentration again.

“I can’t…” she strained her features again, and then relaxed, sighing in defeat, “I can’t see the rest of it. But,” she said, flickering her eyes to Aomine meaningfully, “I do know that it’s on the legendary Javab Scroll, and it’s hidden _somewhere_ in the ruins of Valhalla, I just don’t know _where_ …”

 _The ruins of Valhalla…_ Aomine exhaled heavily. He was going to have to go back there, evidently.

“Isn’t the Javab Scroll just Valhallan folklore, though?” He frowned, his voice husky with confusion. Momoi smiled at this, but it was Kise who responded, grinning widely.

“The _dragons_ were just folklore before I came along, Aominecchi,” he shrugged, “we’re dealing with myths here, so we’ll have to consider all the possibilities.”

Momoi nodded in affirmation. “Ki-chan is right. You guys have to find the scroll and get the rest of the prophecy before heading to the volcanoes of Rasgarde. The _true_ answer lies there.”

Aomine tried to take it all in. “So we’re supposed to go to Valhalla first, then?”

The pink-haired girl shook her head in dissent, turning around towards the cupboard. Her robes swished across the sand as she walked towards it, and pulled open the lowermost drawer to reveal an old, rolled-up map.

“Not quite.” She said, taking the map and walking back to the where the blue and fair haired pair stood by the table. In a business-like manner, she swept the map open and spread it out onto the table.

It was an exquisite illustration of the subcontinent of Meridia, beginning with the Strait of Ilfheim in the far north, littered with mountain ranges here and there. A few ways south began the Valridian desert, which took up a good chunk of the entire subcontinent. Smack in the middle of the continent was Viridia, and far, far to the southeast, where there was a peninsula by the coast, lay the Kingdom of Agartha, sheltered from nearly all directions by the waves. At the southernmost tip, at the very edge of the desert, lay the ruins of Valhalla.

But Momoi’s fingers traveled up the worn paper to the far Northeastern corner of the continent, where the volcanoes of Rasgarde lay, surrounded mostly by the ocean on one side but briefly joined to the Rasuak River to the east, which ran through a nearby forest that the people of the Meridian subcontinent referred to as the Krosslarnds.

She tapped the river. “There’s a guardian here, who won’t let you enter Rasgarde without a valor stone from the Ilfheim mountain tribe.” The three sets of eyes flew to the mountain range far north as Momoi’s finger went there. “So it would make more sense for you to go to Ilfheim first and then travel in an anti-clockwise motion around the subcontinent rather than going to Valhalla and then backtracking all the way back north again, see?”

Aomine blinked in confusion, but Kise nodded. “Got it. So we go to Ilfheim first?”

Momoi nodded, taking the map off of the table and rolling it back up again. “You go to Ilfheim first.” She agreed, exhaling deeply, exhausted after her thorough explanation. She handed the map to Kise, who nodded once more and tucked it up the long sleeves of his gaudy champagne robes. Then, she smiled warmly and gave the blonde a tight hug, one which he returned in all eagerness.

“Take care, Ki-chan, and be _strong_ , okay?” She said gently, and the prince nodded, sniffling a few times comically (Aomine scoffed). “You can do this.”

He grinned enthusiastically through his watery expression. “You can count on _me_ , Momocchi!”

Then, Momoi turned to Aomine, who stiffened, but without any merit. She did not hug him the way she did Kise, but patted his arm affectionately nonetheless. Her eyes were sad, but they were meaningful, and Aomine found himself overwhelmed by emotion once again.

“Don’t let your past weigh you down, Dai-chan,” she said softly, “this is your chance to repent.”

Aomine swallowed, feeling pride and guilt surge inside him simultaneously.

_“Never forget your sins, Aomine Daiki.”_

He owed Akashi a great debt, but this was for the greater good. He would have to sacrifice his loyalty for the sake of the world, but he found that the realization did not bother him so much.

_“This is your chance to repent.”_

A chance to repent… he did want that, very much.

He turned his eyes to Kise, who had been observing the conflicting emotions passing over the tanned man’s face. Their eyes met, and though Aomine did not find warmth, camaraderie, and happiness in those golden optics (yet), he did find a sense of understanding that he believed he would be able to work with (somehow, anyway).

He smirked wolfishly. “Ready to go, stupid brat of a prince?”

Kise grinned back, eyes alight with mischief once more. “You bet, Aominecchi.”

*******

_Aomine Daiki, what is taking you so long, nanodayo?_

Midorima Shintarou sat in the middle of his living room, listening to the sound of the fire crackling within the lit lanterns. Enough time had passed for him to know what had _not_ happened: that Aomine Daiki had _not_ successfully assassinated the prince in time to perform the exfiltration. He was a smart man, he knew what would happen to him in such a case, but still he found himself rooted to the spot and unable to move, and it was all because of his infallible loyalty to the crown.

His orders had been precise and finite: infiltrate the city, and wait for Aomine Daiki to finish the assassination of the prince before exfiltrating. Easy enough, but he was bound to his words by oath, and couldn’t find it within himself to break his promise and flee without his comrade.

There was, also, one other reason that rooted him to Viridia despite his incoming doom.

He heard the front door slide open: someone walked in, inhaling sharply.

“Shin-chan,” a soft voice called out, and Takao Kazunari ran across the wood towards him, “why are you still here? Shouldn’t you have left at least an hour ago?”

He clenched his fists. Takao. He had to warn him. He had to let him, at least, escape.

“Aomine Daiki has failed, nanodayo.” He said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

Suddenly, a pair of trembling greyish hazel eyes cut across his line of vision, anxious and worried. Takao’s hands closed around his shoulders, and the words stumbled out of his mouth hastily, like flowing water.

“O-Oi, Shin-chan, shouldn’t you be leaving?” He said shakily, perfectly, sweetly and upon hearing his concern, Midorima almost wanted to cry. “They’ll be here any minute. _Shit_ , I knew the guards were louder than usual…”

It _was_ indeed loud outside and Midorima could almost _hear_ his doom approaching him in the form of a horde of angry Viridian guards. When at length, Midorima didn’t respond, Takao began to reiterate, the worry in his voice increasing with every passing second.

“Hey, Shin-chan…”

But Midorima cut him off hastily.

“You need to leave right this moment, Takao.” His voice was thick and shaky, but he continued in a rush, unable to stop now that he had begun to speak. “Send a hawk to the king, and ride for Agartha.” Takao’s hands loosened from his shoulders, and Midorima didn’t have to see the disbelief etched on his face. Takao was a stubborn fool, but he had to try and convince him. He had to. Feeling rather weak, Midorima swallowed down the lump in his throat before continuing.

“The Viridians will be angry, and they will want to wage war, nanodayo.” He voice was emotionless, but it quivered like the ground before an earthquake, and his emotions were traveling along a similar wavelength. “Agartha needs to be prepared.”

His plan made sense, and he knew Takao would be well aware of this. The man’s cheery voice was unnaturally solemn when he spoke next.

“Shin-chan, they’ll kill you,” Midorima didn’t want to look at him; he could tell he was crying, though he attempted to hide it meekly, “They’ll kill you, and you _know_ it, Shin-chan, you _know_ …”

He did. He _did_ know it.

Midorima closed his eyes, sighing shakily. He opted to remain silent. It was getting harder and harder to respond without breaking down, and Takao seeing him cry was the last thing he wanted.

Truthfully, he did not want to die, but if he did not make this sacrifice, then thousands from his home country will pay the price. Takao would understand that. Takao _should_ understand that.

One soul was not worth a thousand.

“Shin-chan, please…” Takao was begging him, now, openly sobbing as he knelt in front of him and cupped his cheeks. Midorima had to drown out his voice somehow, the feel of his fingers, the image of his teary face… lest his resolve weakened.

“Run, Takao.” He said definitively, keeping his eyes firmly shut. “The guards will be preoccupied with me. They won’t be at the outposts. You have a chance of escaping and warning them, nanodayo.”

Midorima’s voice caught on the last syllable, and Takao noticed. He heard Takao’s sob catch in his throat, and then suddenly he felt the smaller man’s arms around his stiff, tense body, enveloping him in one last, brief embrace.

“Y-You’re such an idiot, Shin-chan,” he heard him mumble into the crevice of his neck, and his body felt warm despite his imminent demise, “You stupid, honorable, tsundere _idiot_ …”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles, because, after all, he was still human.

“Takao, go.” He said, and this time he knew the other would comply. Takao’s arms tightened around him once more, and then suddenly they weren’t there. Midorima wanted to open his eyes, spare himself one last look at the love of his life, but he feared he would not be able to control himself if he did so.

He felt Takao’s lips brush against the top of his head, and he nearly broke down right then and there, but somehow found the energy to hold himself together. A moment later, he heard the door to the gardens slide open, and then shut close, and he had the mental visualization of Takao scurrying up to the roof before melting into the shadows and sneaking his way off to the outskirts of the city.

He hoped with all his life that Takao makes it.

From the other side, the angry mob suddenly sounded immensely close; the guards must have turned the corner onto his street. He exhaled a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding in, and then got to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Midorima opened his eyes.

He would put up a fight, and go down a warrior.

One soul was not worth a thousand.

The sliding door broke open, and the guards swarmed in; Midorima unsheathed his sword and closed his eyes, preparing for battle.

_I love you, Takao._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T KILL ME. But really, though, is Shin-chan dead? What do you guys think of all the massive meaty plot points I've revealed in this chapter? What are your speculations? I'd really love to hear what you think. Please comment and kudos~ 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and please do continue to support me!
> 
> PS. Did the geography make sense to you? I hope it did... if it didn't, let me know, because I'm trying to draw up a map for reference! ^_^ It's quite a lot to keep in mind, after all....


	3. the middle of an endless journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so, so much to all those who gave kudos and reviewed! T^T You guys are everything to me! Special thanks to the commenters: valdera, sourinralia, mellisugahelena94 (I forgot to reply to this in your question, but my attempts at drawing the map went horribly wrong. nope, nope, nope... cartography is not my thing), and iiye! ^_^ Also, one of you mentioned something about Akashi's eyes being red and gold c: Well, I'm going to alternate between his personas every now and then, so I think it might get a bit confusing if I change his eye color every time (not to mention, I'm going to forget about having to do it lol), so for simplicity's sake I'll just stick with red and gold throughout this fic! I really hope you guys don't mind.. 
> 
> Also, a very important note! I'm going to limit my updates to once every Tuesday, so as to help you guys keep better track of it. ^0^ But if I find myself unable to update on the given date due to various circumstances, I'll make sure to mention it on my tumblr: daienkaixoxentei, so make sure y'all go and check that out on Tuesdays if I'm late with the update c: Thank you so much once again, for following my fic! Please do continue to support me!

* * *

 

 

_A dozen or so men and women stood clustered together outside the kingdom borders. Nearly all of them wore expressions with at least a certain amount of sadness and trepidation. Amidst all of adults stood out a small boy of about seven, with beautiful copper skin and striking navy eyes. He was glowering disdainfully at the woman standing before him._

_She was dressed in armor, although her helmet was resting in her hand by her hip. She wore a consoling smile on her face, and her other hand was buried in the boy’s hair. She ruffled it lovingly._

_“Now, Daiki…”_

_Aomine Daiki scowled, crossing his thin arms over his chest petulantly. “Huh. I just don’t get it. Why do you have to leave?”_

_The woman smiled patiently. Her hair was dark, but she had the same striking eyes as the boy before her. These eyes glittered with endearment as she spoke._

_“Daiki, it’s not forever, you know? I’m just going off for a short while.” Her lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’ll be back before you know it.”_

_The boy seemed adamant. His scowl only deepened as he regarded her. For a long time, they stood silent amidst the semi-cheerful farewells echoing around them. At length, Aomine spoke in a quiet, sullen voice._

_“You promise you’ll be back soon?”_

_The woman smiled sincerely. Her hand slid from the top of his head to his cheek, where she gave it a loving caress. “I promise. And,” she said seriously, straightening up and reaching through the neck of her armor, evidently looking for something, “if you still don’t believe me, you can have this for safekeeping while I’m gone.”_

_She fumbled about for a bit, and then extracted a piece of carved rock hanging off her neck from a slim leather thong. She reached around to her nape to untie it, and a second later she had bent down again in order to tie it around Aomine’s neck._

_The boy’s sullen expression morphed into one of surprise. He looked down at the necklace, bringing up a tiny hand to clasp around the rock hanging off of its end tightly. Slowly, his lips stretched into a grin mirroring the one worn by the woman in front of him, and he nodded happily._

_“Y… Yeah! Yeah, okay!” His grin widened with childish innocence. “I’ll protect it with all my might until you return!”_

_The woman watched him with a soft smile. Then, she leant over to place a kiss atop his head before speaking. “There you go, my little warrior,” she cuffed him around the ear with gentle playfulness, “you better hold onto it tightly, because it’s very precious to me. Just like you.”_

_Aomine flushed in embarrassment, but did not chastise the woman for her cheesy words. Instead, he nodded._

_“Right. Take care of yourself, Daiki.”_

_Aomine’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the necklace, and he grinned._

_“You too, mama.”_

*******

Lost in thought, Aomine’s hands tightened around his necklace as the travelers flew through the night. Now that he had removed the armor he had stolen, he was dressed only in the thin silk tunic the people of his country used to wear, and was feeling a tad bit chilly. Despite the warmth emanating from Colrath, the desert climate was harsh and unforgiving even to experienced warriors like himself.

Kise spoke to Colrath soothingly every now and then, and the dragon rumbled to him in response, but for the most part, they rode in silence. Both parties were filled with a certain amount of apprehension, but Aomine in particular was more exhausted both mentally and physically after such a thoroughly overwhelming night. A part of him hardly believed all of it had managed to happen within such a short time.

This was why what kept him awake then was not the cold, but the conflicted emotions raging through him. Certainly, he believed that it was crucial for them to follow what Momoi had prophesied, for he had seen firsthand the disastrous effect of not trusting her words. And yet…

_“You are indebted to me, Aomine Daiki. Never forget your sins.”_

He shook his head unhappily, trying to get Akashi’s condescending voice out of his brain. Him abandoning his mission was for the greater good. A pessimistic part of his conscience kept telling him that Midorima would never flee without a word from him, but he had to at least _dare_ to hope that the man had enough sense to salvage the situation to his favor.

Perhaps he was simply just _too_ exhausted and _too_ raw to formulate a logical conclusion. His mind needed a break, although he could not see how it was possible for him to get any rest atop a dangerous, suspiciously playful beast streaking through midair. He frowned, though, because though the sky was more violet than black, and daybreak was approaching rapidly, the prince in front of him showed no signs of fatigue. In fact, he was more alert than ever, much to Aomine’s dissatisfaction.

 _Why is_ he _not tired? Damn, I can’t be softer than a freaking prince, right…?_

He found it increasingly harder to stay awake. The sound of the wind rushing through the night combined with Colrath’s soft rumbles proved to be more soothing to his ears than ominous, and he ultimately ended up nodding off for a few seconds.

Surprised, he somehow shook himself awake with a low curse. Kise must have heard him mutter the profanity under his breath over the wind, for he turned his head back a bit concernedly.

He studied the other for a bit, and then turned his eyes back to the horizon.

“You should sleep, Aominecchi,” he said matter-of-factly, “It’ll take us more than a day’s worth of riding to get to Ilfheim, you know?”

“We’re atop a dragon, five hundred feet in the air. And in case you didn’t notice,” Aomine grumbled drowsily, “humans _die_ when they fall from such heights, _idiot._ ”

Here, Kise turned his head back again, and though Aomine could only see half of his face, he winced upon seeing the stern, no-nonsense expression the prince wore. The blonde pouted petulantly, and his eyes shone defiantly.

“Aominecchi, you’re already yawning.”

Aomine stopped himself, swearing again.

“Damn you, I _ain’t_.” But he most certainly was.

Kise rolled his eyes at this. “Hey, it’s not like Colrath and I will just let you _fall,_ you know? Stop being so stubborn and just go to sleep.”

Aomine scowled vehemently. “Yeah? Shouldn’t you sleep, too, then?”

Here, Kise smiled at him. “I slept through the day, Aominecchi. Momocchi told me you would be coming, so I prepared myself.”

Aomine glared at the dizzying desert landscape below them. It wasn’t fair. He would have prepared himself if he got a heads-up, too. Now it just looked like Kise was more proficient at questing than he was, which could not be farther from the truth, because _he_ was an experienced warrior with years’ worth of skill and expertise, whereas Kise was just a stupid brat of a prince who grew up in a colorful castle with a thousand servants to attend him.

 _Hmph._ Aomine growled to himself. _It ain’t fair…_

Kise must have seen the fight in Aomine’s eyes, because he sighed exasperatedly. “Aominecchi, just please go to sleep. No one will think you’re weak.”

But Aomine did not reply, for he had already dozed off. A second later, a snore escaped the tanned man’s ajar lips, and he slumped against Kise’s back sleepily. The prince raised his eyebrows a bit amusedly.

Aomine snored particularly ungracefully just then, and Kise grimaced upon realizing that he would have to put up with the other’s chainsaw-like snoring _all the while_ until he woke up.

Still, he was smiling when he turned his head back north. _Aominecchi, you’re such an idiot._

*******

His footsteps were muted against the sand as he ran down the desert path. His breathing was irregular, punctuated with occasional sobs. His feet were sore, and his knees were shaking from exhaustion, but he did not falter.

Takao had been running for longer than he could remember, and yet he could not seem to find an end to his tears. But perhaps his grief had merit, for it urged him to push forth – to go _forward_ – even when his legs were screaming from tiredness and the soles of his feet were burning with blisters.

_Shin-chan…_

Whenever his body ached in protest, he reminded himself that Midorima had sacrificed himself to let him escape. Whatever noble reason the man might have masked himself behind, Takao knew in his heart that his true purpose had been to ensure his lover a lengthier life than he.

Once again, the thought that Midorima might be dead struck him painfully. He tripped on a dry piece of rock, and nearly ended up falling, but managed to right himself and kept on going.

_Shin-chan **can’t** be dead! _

He couldn’t be. The world could not keep on going without him – at least, not for Takao. Besides, he was a strong fighter, and there was still the possibility that he got out of the situation alive.

And if there _were_ the slightest chance that he might be alive, then that made it all the more essential that he put all his might into arriving at Agartha as soon as possible. Takao had only heard about him through Midorima’s explanations along with the villager’s rumors, but he knew that if there was anyone who _could_ save Midorima right now, it would be the fearsome king of Agartha.

Ignoring the pain raging through his limbs, he lifted his sharp eyes and looked toward the distant horizon. To the east, the sky was beginning to lighten; rosy hues crept up the heavens, seeping into the darkness of the night and brightening the universe. It was _just_ light enough for him to see the unmistakable shadow of a cluster of buildings in the distance.

He had to steal a horse from that village ahead, or he would never be able to make it to Agartha _alive,_ let alone in _time_. Familiar though he may be to the Valridian desert, he was certain that he could never survive its many perils if he were stranded on his bare feet.

_Also…_

It was essential that he sent a messenger hawk to the king as a forewarning, just in case he couldn’t make it. But to do all that, he would have to be able to get to the village and steal someone’s hawk before the sun rose and made it difficult for him to obscure his movements.

The sky grew steadily lighter in the east.

He clenched his fists, and gave himself a burst of speed though his legs protested violently.

_Shin-chan…_

_You better be alive, idiot!_

*******

_Tap-tap-tap, seven-year-old Aomine Daiki’s footsteps went as he sprinted down the cliff path. He tried to maintain his expression, but his lips were trembling and his eyes were watery. His eyebrows were knitted together with worry, as if he was lost and couldn’t find where to go._

_He might as well have been._

_“Devil’s child!” “Evil scum!” “Son of a whore!” “You and your mother, you’ve doomed us all!” The villagers’ voices still echoed in his head. Their eyes had been cold and unforgiving, and though an observer might have seen and felt their terror, the young boy had been far too overcome with grief and confusion to acutely notice these emotions in his adversaries’ eyes._

_“NO!” He screamed into the darkness of the night, trying to drown out their condescending words. He wailed openly now, as he ran._

_“Be brave, my warrior,” his mother had always said, “My lovely, brave son… you have so much of a burden to bear, so much to carry with you…”_

_Is this what she had meant? Had she done this to him, made him an outcast, a traitor, a demon in the eyes of the villagers, on purpose? Would his mother have done such a thing to him?_

_No. No, it could not be true. His mother was not at fault, here. The villagers, they were the demons._ They _did this to him – to_ her. _They were the ones to blame for all of this._

_At long last, the sloping cliff path leveled out, and Aomine came to a stop in front of a cavern. He wiped his eyes, sniffling, and looked back up at the cliff, wondering if he should return. He had never been to this part of the kingdom before, and the dark unfamiliarity of the place made him immensely uneasy._

_He took a few tentative steps back, meaning to turn around and run, though he did not particularly have anywhere else to go. But before he could do so, a voice called out from inside the cavern. It wasn’t particularly loud, but he heard it as clearly as if it had been whispered in his ear._

_“Aomine Daiki… who has wronged you?”_

_Stunned, Aomine froze in his tracks. He felt a chill run over him, but he could not move. His feet were rooted to the spot._

_“Don’t be afraid, boy… come to me… I’ll help you…”_

_Aomine swallowed unhappily, taking a step forward. “Who are you?” He called out in the toughest voice he could manage, but him being a sniffling seven-year-old meant that he could not manage more than a squeaky cry that echoed weakly off of the cave walls._

_The voice chuckled. “I’m your friend, boy… I’m here to help you… to protect you from those horrible villagers…”_

_This intrigued the young boy. “R-Really?” He asked, surprised. “Really, you’ll do that?”_

_“Of course, boy…” the voice chuckled, as if this was obvious, “I’m your friend, right…?”_

_“My friend…” the seven-year-old smiled a bit hesitantly. “Yeah, okay!”_

*******

“ _He-ey_ , Aominecchi…”

Aomine stirred in his sleep, bringing up an arm to shield his ears from the irritable noise. He scowled to himself and rolled around in his sleep until he was resting on his side. The fact that he had been lying on his back should have alerted him back to wakefulness if he had had any common sense.

“ _A-o-mi-ne-cchi_ ~”

This time, he grunted in annoyance. What the hell was wrong with that stupid Kise, disturbing him from his well-deserved nap? Geez…

Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong. He was not supposed to be curled up comfortably on the ground. He was supposed to be several hundred feet in the air, flying as fast as he could towards the subcontinent’s northern mountain range.

Aomine’s eyes flew open immediately, but he had to blink a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness. The sun was searing hot on his face, and judging by the intensity he had to guess it was just past noon. He grimaced groggily, and squinted up at the sky as the world began to refocus.

Kise Ryouta bent over him, frowning at him with mild concern. He wore a pout, but his honey eyes held a bit of impatience. His long blonde bangs flew in the wind, accentuating the color of his eyes. Aomine’s eyes traveled a bit further upward and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw the unfamiliar object nestled in the other’s hair.

“W… What the hell are you _wearing_?”

It was a crown, of sorts, woven with dried grass and several odd-looking wildflowers. He wore it like a victory laurel around the top of his head, and Aomine could not fathom why or how he had managed to conceive it, considering that they were supposed to be in the middle of the desert.

The desert!

Aomine sat up with a start, blinking a bit more furiously so as to try and wake up properly. He looked around at his surroundings. They had managed to evade the desert sometime while he was asleep, but it looked like they hadn’t gotten very far, because he presently found himself in a dry, frail-looking moor that spread out for a considerable distance in all directions except south, where he could see the tell-tale shadows of desert dunes in the distance. Colrath was frolicking in a large patch of heather a few ways away from them, but upon seeing that Aomine had woken up, it rolled off the flattened flora with a _thump_ and began to dutifully claw his way through the grass towards them, wearing its best smirk.

(Privately, Aomine shuddered and looked away. The thought that the dragon could express emotions was just _strange_.)

Now that he had gathered his bearings properly, he put on his best scowl and turned back to the infuriating blonde. Kise was grinning at him widely, as if he was very proud about having woven the laurel he was wearing.

It _was_ rather distracting (white wildflowers went well with blonde hair, _alright_?), but he rolled his eyes and instead glared accusatorily at the prince.

“Oi, why’ve we landed?” He said gruffly, his voice still husky with sleep. “And why in damn hell didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

Kise frowned, as if displeased by Aomine’s lack of comment. He adjusted the flower crown on his head very pointedly as he spoke, causing Aomine’s frustration to deepen.

“Hey, you looked very peaceful, okay?” Kise smiled in a somewhat snarky manner. “So cute, you looked _just_ like a precious baby. I didn’t even want to wake you up, you know?”

Aomine clenched his fists, feeling his cheeks burn. He would not get himself riled up, he would not get himself riled up, he would not get himself riled up… Petty comments like that were below him. He was a _warrior,_ and Kise was just a stupid spoiled brat.

But ultimately, it _did_ get him riled up. Scowling even deeper, he glared daggers at the cheeky prince rather obviously, but somehow managed enough self-restrain to not comment about the subject any further.

“Yeah, whatever, but why the hell did you think it was a good idea to land?”

Here, Kise was genuinely confused, and it showed on his face. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Why can’t we land? Colrath looked a bit tired, so…”

Aomine stared at him in incredulity. “You’re joking, right?”

Kise blinked. “W- _What_? I honestly don’t get it, why can’t we”—

“Because,” Aomine interrupted impatiently, getting to his feet and stomping over crossly to where Colrath had sat down on the dry grass, flicking its massive tail every now and then like some strange, scaly overgrown dog, “there’ll be people coming to _look_ for you and me from your country, stupid. If we keep stopping every time this _thing_ needed a potty break”—

“Hey!” Kise interrupted at the same time Colrath huffed out a breath in a wounded manner, as if _appalled_ that Aomine would refer to it so crassly. “Colrath is _sensitive,_ okay, don’t call him a _thing_ ”—

Aomine’s eyes widened. Despite his expertise, he felt a rush of panic, because he was certainly _not_ prepared to haul a prince whose most potent skill appeared to be laurel-weaving and the most _infuriatingly_ spoiled dragon he had _ever_ seen (well, the only dragon he had ever seen) all around the _entire_ subcontinent on an important mission that might or might not decide the fate of the world.

“For fucks’ sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “I can’t stand this a minute longer. Let’s just get going.”

Kise didn’t seem to be listening to him. He was patting the dragon’s snout affectionately, speaking in a soothing voice and sending several dirty looks at Aomine.

“Don’t worry, Colrath,” he said in a huffy voice, “Aominecchi is an idiot, but he didn’t mean to call you a _thing_. He’s grumpy because he just woke up.”

“Oh, I _am_ grumpy,” he said as he grabbed Colrath’s scales and hoisted himself up in order to settle in his usual position atop the dragon, “but it definitely ain’t because I just woke up.”

Kise frowned at him petulantly, but followed suit without too much of a protest. Thankfully, Colrath hadn’t taken _too_ much offense about being referred to as a _thing_ , because at least it didn’t throw Aomine off the moment he had settled down on it.

“You better be thankful Colrath has more manners than you, Aominecchi.” He said snootily, gripping the sides of the dragon’s body tightly as it flapped its wings in order to take off.

“Yeah, right,” he said, rolling his eyes as they began to ascend into the blue midday sky. Perhaps as an afterthought, he added crossly, even though he really did not believe it to be true:

“And that thing looks stupid in your hair.”

He must have landed on a nerve, because Kise scowled at him and turned back to look at him with the sullenest expression he had seen on the prince as of yet.

“You’re the meanest idiot I’ve ever seen, Aominecchi,” he said, shaking his head as if he could not believe it, “The fact that anyone could be so, _so_ mean…”

Aomine’s exasperation at his melodrama was evident on his face, but he opted not to respond to the blonde’s eccentricities, seeing as it only fueled him further. He looked down at the spot on the moor where they had landed, and hoped valiantly that the dried grass was not _so_ frail that their footsteps remained even by the time the hunting party that would evidently have been sent by Viridia to follow them had caught up to them.

They rode for a while in silence, but when Kise carefully extracted the map Momoi had given him from the sleeves of his robes, Aomine tentatively leaned over his shoulder in order to take a look at it, as well.

The blonde recoiled, making a face at Aomine. “Eh, your breath smells gross…”

Aomine chose to wisely ignore this. “Let me see the map.”

Muttering something about people who are ‘ _so, so mean,’_ under his breath, Kise rolled up and then held back the dusty old map for Aomine to retrieve. Careful not to lose his balance atop the dragon, Aomine took it from him and unrolled it, studying the landscape carefully. He had been in these parts before, so if he was right…

“Ah, yes, there it is!” he said, smirking triumphantly and pointing to a particular cluster of houses marked on the map. The irritable Kise was perhaps intrigued by the exultance in his voice, and he turned back to see what Aomine was indicating. The village he was pointing at seemed to be located in a hilly area, with lots of springs surrounding it here and there.

“We need to get some supplies from here,” he said, tapping the map, “a flask to gather water, and maybe some food… it’s few hours or so away, so we’ll be there soon enough.”

Kise pouted stubbornly, and Aomine just _knew_ he was about to say something stupid. “I thought stopping at places was _bad_.”

“It is,” he said peevishly, scowling back at him, “but since _somebody_ didn’t realize that we would need food and water to freaking _survive_ , we don’t really have a choice.”

Kise flushed slightly, knowing that he had lost this battle. “Okay, okay,” he admitted, taking the map back and tucking it away in his sleeves again, “I’m a newbie, okay? But that’s why you’re coming along, right?”

Aomine raised an eyebrow, and Kise cared to elaborate.

“No, see,” he said, his sheepish expression morphing into a grin (how _did_ he change his moods so quickly, incidentally?), “ _I’m_ the prince mentioned in the prophecy, right? But I need a sidekick to help me and teach me things I don’t know, because I’m new to all this.”

“I’ll agree that you’re _new_ to all this,” Aomine grumbled, not liking the incessant chatter very much (mostly because he had no idea what Kise was talking about), “but I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”

“What I’m _saying_ is,” he explained a bit more clearly, “it wouldn’t make sense for Momoi to insist that you _have_ to come along with me if I was a trained warrior, right? In that case, you wouldn’t really have a purpose in all this, you know?”

Aomine frowned, wondering whether he was being called useless, and feeling a bit insulted. “Yeah,” he muttered nonetheless, “so?”

“ _So,_ it just proves that we’re the ones who’re supposed to be doing this!” Kise continued, now sounding a bit exasperated that Aomine did not fathom his point, “Y’know, I was kind of suspicious of Momoi and her claims to see the future, at first, but especially now, considering this… I wouldn’t doubt her words at all.”

“Yeah…” Aomine said a bit quietly, not liking the direction where the conversation was leading to, “me neither.”

They remained silent for a few moments, Aomine lost in his muse and Kise lost in… whatever that stupid brat had to think about, hell if Aomine knew. But at length, he felt uncomfortable about the prolonged halt in the conversation, mostly because it was prompting him to remember several unhappy incidents he would rather keep locked in the dark.

“How’d you meet her, anyway?” Aomine asked at length, genuinely curious.

“Oh, that?” Kise frowned. “That was rather strange, actually… I was out riding with Colrath just a year or so ago when he insisted we go to that outcropping she lives in.”

Kise smiled as he continued cheerfully, as if the recalling of these fond memories pleased him. “She was a bit nervous at first when I just barged in without any warning, but I guess she was unable to resist my charm”—Aomine sniggered behind his hand at this, though the oblivious Kise did not notice and rambled on—“because we became friends really quickly after that. She sometimes told me about her visions, and I tried to learn fortunetelling from her – and failed, obviously – but we ended up really enjoying each other’s presence, you know?”

“I see,” Aomine said, now feeling a bit queasy, “and did she… did she ever tell you about her past?”

Kise shook his head. “No, she’s always been really mysterious about it. I didn’t even know she was from Valhalla before you came along, and actually,” he admitted kind of sheepishly, sending Aomine a hopeful glance, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about it…”

Aomine remained silent, trying not to appear too relieved as he scowled down at the mass of shimmery white scales between his fingers. Kise studied him for a moment, and then turned back around to face the far horizon.

“Was whatever happened really that bad?” He asked softly.

Aomine did not reply to _this_ for a long time, either. But then, at length, he gave a massive sigh and finally spoke:

“I don’t wanna talk about this now, Kise.” He said, sounding gruffer than ever. “Maybe some other time.”

Kise pouted to himself, but then shrugged, perhaps feeling resigned that this was the best he could get at present. “Your call, Aominecchi,” he said gently, “I won’t push you for anything, okay?”

Aomine, unable to wipe the troubled expression off of his face, sighed again. He really did not enjoy traversing to his past even in the form of memories: the nightmares did that enough for him, anyway.

“Right.”

*******

By the time the pair and their dragon arrived at the village Aomine indicated, the sun had sunk low enough into the sky until it resembled a lamp glittering on the horizon; it lit up the world in hues of orange and red, painting the landscape in its amber rays. They had decided that Aomine would be the one actually entering the village to gather supplies, for it was plausible that some of the villagers would recognize the prince – and if not the prince, his freaking _dragon_.

Thus, after finding shelter for the prince and his dragon by a valley between two hills located a safe distance away, and through which bubbled a spring Colrath could drink from, Aomine sauntered into the idyllic village by himself.

He wandered through its simple roads, managing to nick a couple of flasks laying atop a barrel along the way, until he came across a creaky old tavern. He adjusted the hood of the cloak he stole from the village outskirts – because there was always, always the possibility of being spotted – and hesitantly entered the establishment, walking straight up to the bar.

“How much to refill these with water?” He asked quietly of the bartender, a thick-set, grumpy looking fellow, so as to avoid drawing attention. He took out a few silver rings he had gotten from Kise. “Viridian currency’s alright, yeah?”

The bartender scoffed, as if insulted by the fact that Aomine had walked into a tavern to purchase _water_ , of all things, but told him unpleasantly that it cost a silver each, anyway. Aomine scowled under his hood. He could _too_ take a drink. It was just unwise to do so on a precarious quest such as the one he was on presently.

“Yeah, and some food?” He grumbled instead of voicing his displeasure. “How much for some meat?”

The bartender just looked at him coldly. “How much we talking?”

Aomine shrugged. He wasn’t too choosy. “Whatever you’ve got.” He said, placing the entire bag of silvers atop the counter. “I’ve got money.”

The man eyed the bag a bit hungrily, and then nodded a bit more respectfully before disappearing through a door – presumably to the back to get them some food. Aomine stared after him a bit uneasily. Something about his character was rather off…

He sighed, attributing his restlessness to his inherent anxiety. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar top. He wished the man would hurry. They didn’t have much time to spare.

*******

“Akashi-sama, look over there.”

The king of Agartha, at his usual spot at the city-view castle balcony, turned in his spot until he was following his advisor Mibuchi’s gaze. There, in the distance, soaring through the sunset’s colors, traversing across his kingdom was the inevitable silhouette of a messenger hawk. It held a piece of unkempt paper within its claws, and the fact that it was unsealed and from an informal party came as a bit of a surprise to Akashi. Commoners never directly addressed kings, but here was a messenger hawk clearly addressed to him from a commoner, flying right towards his estate.

“Ara ara, that’s rather strange…” Mibuchi said in his velvety voice, indeed sounding very bewildered, “That doesn’t look like a formal document, does it, Akashi-sama?”

Akashi did not reply, but instead reached out his hand as the hawk approached – the bird dutifully dropped the piece of paper into his hands and sped off back to where it came from. He unrolled the torn piece of parchment with an impassive expression, but with a tiny amount of concern he did not express through his features.

He stood still for a long time, studying the piece of paper. At length, his curious advisor spoke up hesitantly in his heavy, effeminate voice.

“Your Majesty, if I may ask,” he asked, “who is it from?”

Akashi handed the paper to his companion, and then turned his eyes to face the sunset again, his eyes cold enough to freeze fire despite the inexpressiveness of his remaining features. He waited until Mibuchi had enough time to read the paper before speaking.

“This confirms Aomine Daiki’s failure,” the king murmured silkily, “though whether he is dead or alive is not readily discernible from that garbled script. What is more important at present,” he said, eyes narrowing imperceptibly, “is the life of one of my most skilled soldiers. Failures can be dealt with later. Mibuchi.”

He said this last part a bit sharply to the man in his presence, who immediately assumed a respectful position, nodding. “Yes, sire?”

“Ride west for Viridia immediately, and report back Midorima’s situation to me at once. You have no room for failure.” He made this last part very clear from his stern expression, and one could see that Mibuchi understood very well, for he suddenly looked rather nervous. “Do _not_ get caught. Is everything clear?”

Mibuchi dipped his head, bowing deeply in respect. “Yes, sire. You have nothing to fear.”

Akashi nodded back, satisfied with his response.

“Good.”

*******

Several horses whinnied in sync. The clattering of three sets of hooves came to an abrupt halt, and a certain somebody sitting atop the horse in the lead jumped off and onto the dried grass of the moor. The sun had fully set, and twilight had settled in, but the moon glowed brightly enough in the sky for him to see the disturbances in the grass.

“What is it, Kasamatsu-senpai?” one of his subordinates, a certain Moriyama Yoshitaka, called out to him from atop his horse. “Do you see something?”

 _Something I could use to woo the ladies with…_ he thought privately, grinning already as he thought of the possibilities. Just imagine, he could go home and tell _everyone_ that _he_ was the one who single-handedly saved their prince! _Just imagine the romance that would open up to me…_

“Ka(s)a(ma)tsu-se(npa)i!” A rather garbled voice called out from atop the other horse: Hayakawa Mitsuhiro’s word echoed across the empty moor as he addressed his senior. “Didja (find) summin’?”

Moriyama shook his head at his companion’s poor speech, but did not say anything. Their leader did not seem to have heard either of them, for suddenly his intense blue eyes were charged an unforgiving electricity as he brushed his hands across the flattened grass. “They were here.” He said, to himself more than anything else. “They were here, _today_.”

“They?” Moriyama prompted.

“Kise-sama and Colrath.” Kasamatsu muttered, glaring down at the grass as if it personally insulted him. Damn it, he was just a few hours late… He could have brought them back if he had set out on the search sooner…

_Kise, just what on earth are you up to?_

“We need to keep hunting.” He said as he straightened up, scowling at his subordinates. “They’re close.”

“Senpai, with all due respect,” Moriyama spoke up a bit hesitantly, “are you sure? I mean, that Agarthan traitor guy said that Kise-sama was supposed to be dead”—

“Kise-sama is _not_ dead, do you hear me?” He said a bit ferociously, and his companions cowered. Feeling a bit guilty at his outburst, he toed the grass unhappily and glared at his feet instead, speaking several times softer. “We can’t give up on our prince like that, you idiots. It’s our job to protect him, got that?”

The other two nodded dutifully.

“Anyway, if we listened to that _scum_ , we’d have gone east to Agartha. It makes no damn sense but here they are, clearly heading north…”

He trailed off, frowning to himself.

_Why would Colrath just let you two get kidnapped like that, though? I don’t get it… There’s something at play here that I don’t understand…_

_Kise, I just hope you’re safe._

A certain ominousness settled over the hunting party as their leader mounted their horse and flicked his reins, continuing his ride north via the light of the stars.

And if he was not safe, Kasamatsu thought, angrily clenching his fists around the reins, he would definitely _kill_ the one responsible for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... what do you think? Was the chapter a bit slow? There isn't much action in this one and the next, but I mostly just want my babies to have a moment to reflect, and to get their bearings on the situation they're in right now. But I PROMISE chapter five will have some nice action scenes! Mostly talking and fluff here lmao. 
> 
> I noticed that the last bit was a bit KiKasa... but it's not shippy whatsoever, so don't worry about that! It's purely platonic... unless that's your ship, in which case, have at it! ^0^ Also, lots of various hints about Midorima but nothing very concrete... yet. Make sure to tune in next Tuesday to find out more on that vein! Also, lots of flashbacks in this chapter, teehee! I think everything will seem very confusing right now, but it all pieces together: I promise. In the meantime, drop a comment below if you liked it! Please, I'm desperate for feedback, I thrive on it... ^_^" 
> 
> I'm so nervous about it because it's mostly just talking... please let me know what you think, guys!


	4. spica in the night sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TUESDAY MY FRIENDS!!! Thank you very much to everyone who read and reviewed the previous chapter! >ww

* * *

 

“Aominecchi…” Kise gasped out, his voice fervent with emotion and exhaustion. There were beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and his features were knotted with tiredness, but his eyes were raging with the exhilarated excitement of a challenger’s.

“Aominecchi, look…” he started again, smirking a bit weakly as he pointed to the object in question, “m-mine’s so big… I bet you’ve never seen one _this_ big…”

Aomine frowned and scoffed, annoyed by the fact that he was being contested with. He grabbed the object of Kise’s indication and none-so-gently angled it this way and that under the light of the crackling campfire, knowing that Kise’s words could not be true. The blonde flushed as the other scrutinized the object mercilessly, and then he whipped out one of his own, smirking wolfishly all the while.

“Yeah? Yours is big, you say?”

Kise’s eyes widened in shock. Unable to resist himself, he reached out with his nimble fingers and traced the object lightly, wondering in awe whether something like that could actually _grow_ to be so _stunningly_ enormous. He licked his lips in anticipation, in _hunger._

“Hungry for it, are you?” Aomine teased him slyly. “But this one’s _mine_ , and you’ve already said that yours was big enough, so…”

“Aominecchi, please let me have some, _please…_ ” He begged softly, quietly, perfectly.

Aomine considered him, his feline smirk stretching over his lips in satisfaction. Kise was nearly _whimpering_ in want, practically begging him for it by his feet. Aomine felt that this agonizing treatment was well-deserved – lenient, even – considering the stupidity of what the prince had actually _done._

At length, he sighed. “Fine,” he muttered reluctantly, “I’ll give you half.”

“Half!” Kise exclaimed in excitement – he had not expected such a bargain. He threw his arms around Aomine in ecstasy, causing the other man to scowl heavily.

“Oi, any more of that shit, and I’ll change my mind.”

Kise sobered up immediately – almost comically – and settled down onto the grass next to him, sighing relief. He looked greatly pleased about the fact that he got what he wanted. He looked up at Aomine, who was crouching down by the fire he had so expertly whipped up with some dusty logs, in reluctant awe. After a while of watching the man tend to the fire, he asked again, frowning:

“ _Really_ , though. How _did_ you catch a rabbit so big, Aominecchi? I had _Colrath_ ’s help in catching mine, and yours is _still_ bigger.”

Aomine grabbed the two dead rabbits and heaved out a satisfied sigh as he dropped onto the tufty grass beside Kise.

“Well,” he said, beginning to skin the rabbit with his bare hands and consecutively earning a dirty look from the prince at his gory crassness, “no offense to Colrath, but he ain’t got a hell lot of stealth. And _don’t_ give me that look,” he said in reference to the repulsed look Kise wore, “we wouldn’t even have to be _eating_ these damn things if it weren’t for _you._ ”

Kise frowned, knowing this to be true but unwilling to accept it. The dragon curled up directly behind them, enjoying the warmth from the fire, grunted non-committedly and sleepily, as if to say that no offense was taken. His master, however, was a lot less forgiving.

“Colrath _is_ stealthy,” he pouted sullenly, “you’re just _mean_ , Aominecchi. I bet you _mean_ -ed your way into getting that big rabbit.”

Aomine sighed exasperatedly, but did not even spare him a glance, instead taking out his frustration on the last rabbit – its skin came off with a nauseating _r-r-rip._ He cleaned them out until they were fit for eating, and then impaled them on two sticks before laying them atop the spit he had fashioned from dead branches, ready for roasting. Kise watched all this with a curious sort of intrigue, forgetting about his earlier irritation with Aomine.

“Ne, Aominecchi?”

“Hn?” Aomine grunted, wiping his thoroughly disgusting hands on his already dirty pants a la typical repulsive behavior.

Kise made a face at this. “Um, first of all, you’re _really_ gross, Aominecchi, but,” he continued vehemently before Aomine could cut in with an indignant protest, “I’m kind of impressed, you know? How did you get so _good_ surviving out here in the wild?”

Aomine shrugged moodily, trying to pass it off as being preoccupied by the rabbits roasting on the fire. He could feel Kise’s eyes on him, probing and inquisitive, and though he was certain of the blonde’s well-meaning sincerity, he simply was not _comfortable_ enough to discuss such sensitive things about himself just _yet._ Perhaps it was his natural instincts as an assassin, but he still could not find it in himself to trust the prince with all authenticity.

Was it normal for him to feel guilty about that? No, that was a ridiculous notion… right?

He rolled his eyes, shrugging. “You talk too much, Kise. It’s kind of annoying.”

Kise scowled and then reached over with his surprisingly smooth (or well, not-so-surprisingly, considering he was a prince) fingertips to grab his ear and give his lobe a sharp, stern tug.

“Now you’re just being rude, Aominecchi!”

He yelped in surprise, and then scowled before swatting the blonde’s offending fingers away. He felt oddly warm inside, and then realized that it was because the chastising gesture was subconsciously reminding him of how his mother used to tug at his ear when he got into trouble with the other villagers.

 _“Leave that ferocity to the real enemies, Daiki.”_ His mother would chide him gently, and then smile. _“Someday you will do great things for the world.”_

Aomine masked the sudden blush that had risen onto his face with a gruffly teasing remark.

“Well,” he shot the blonde a well-deserved glare, “if _someone_ hadn’t fed literally _ALL_ of the meat I bought today to a certain freaking _dragon,_ I wouldn’t _have_ to be this rude, eh?”

As if to prove his point, Colrath burped in his sleep behind them. Aomine sniggered, and then brought up a hand to his face in order to hide his amusement from the blonde.

Kise brought his hands up to hide the guilt on his face, for he was indeed the perpetrator at hand who had got them into this completely unnecessary situation. He groaned out loud, sounding equal parts frustrated and embarrassed.

“Ugh, Aominecchi, _please_ stop talking about that,” he whined unhappily, “I _did_ say I was sorry, you know? If you bring that up again I will quite litereally _beat_ you with that rabbit meat, okay?”

Aomine smirked, finding an opportunity to rile the blonde. “Beat my meat, did you say?”

“What? No,” the blonde frowned, not understanding the lewd implication behind the thoroughly mischievous Aomine’s words, and prattling on innocently, “I _said,_ I was going to _beat_ you with the”—

He stopped quite abruptly, his cheeks flushing a deep burgundy upon realizing what Aomine had meant. His jaw dropped in shock, and he smacked Aomine none-too-gently on the arm to hide his sudden and inexplicable embarrassment.

“A-Aominecchi!” He exclaimed, flabbergasted, while the other barked out loudly in laughter. He scowled petulantly at Aomine while the latter did so, his eyes twinkling with resentment as he racked his brains for a good retort.

“W-Well,” he said at length in a snarky manner, shooting Aomine a sly look, “at least I’m not as juvenile and inexperienced as to find a joke like _beat the meat_ as hilarious as you seem to, Aominecchi. But I guess it’s to be expected that you would talk about me doing such a thing for you, isn’t it?”

Here, he smirked meaningfully, his buoyancy building with every word as the laughter in Aomine’s face rapidly begun to deteriorate into a rather ungraceful, flustered scowl. Kise leaned in close enough to whisper into the other man’s ear with what he hoped was an almost aggravatingly bold confidence.

“I mean,” Kise’s breath tickled Aomine’s skin – it was a warm juxtaposition against the chill of the night, “you think about it all the time, don’t you, _Aominecchi_?”

This time, it was Aomine’s turn to flush a heavy crimson. The poor man’s nostrils flared in humiliation as Kise quite openly and blatantly teased him. He considered denying it insistently for a moment, and then decided that such an embarrassing action would only serve to fuel Kise’s misguided (or so he believed, anyway) notion.

Instead, he regained his composure and smirked back. Kise barely had a moment to narrow his eyes at Aomine with suspicion before the man reached over with a battlecry and wiped his awful-smelling hands – greasy from the blood and guts remaining on his hands after his conquest with skinning the rabbits – all over the blonde’s face.

Kise shrieked in despair as the odor assaulted his nose, and heaved the amused Aomine’s hands away from his face with much difficulty. He spent a moment scowling at the guffawing man with pure, unadulterated lividity, wondering how anybody could be _so_ infuriating. He thought about how he might be able to repay him for _that,_ when he suddenly noticed that the rabbits roasting on the fire were well done already, though the preoccupied warrior had not noticed. Then, his eyes glittering with mischief, he scrambled to his feet quickly and snitched _both_ the roasted rabbits from the spit, consequently sprinting off at full speed into the night.

Aomine, shocked that Kise would do something so direct, took a moment to scamper to his feet before tearing after the blonde through the moor, yelling so much profanities that the wildflowers littering the grass here and there drooped their heads in shame for having been present to hear their utterance.

Kise’s triumphant laughter rang through the night over his cursing, and the sleepy Colrath cocked an eye open to lazily check whether the pair was alright. Upon seeing Aomine catch up to Kise and tackle him to the ground in order to wrestle the spit away from him, it shrugged drowsily and went back to sleep, grunting in contentment.

At length, Aomine emerged from the grass as the winner of their brief fight, waving the two rabbits in the air victoriously. Kise rose from the dirt a second later, though he too, was grinning as he trudged after Aomine back to their makeshift camp. Aomine had already begun to ravage one of the poor rabbits with his teeth hungrily as he sat back down on the grass, followed by a still-smiling Kise. Aomine narrowed his eyes at the blonde suspiciously, wondering what he was up to now.

“Oi, no more funny business,” he threatened, waving his war-spoil rabbit meaningfully, “or you’re not getting anything tomorrow, either.”

“No, no,” Kise reassured hastily, though the radiant happiness on his face grew, “I’m not planning anything, okay?”

When Aomine raised his eyebrows skeptically, Kise nodded emphatically, raising his arms in surrender. “I’m _serious!_ It’s just that that was kind of fun, you know?” He smiled contentedly again, his eyes alight with excitement, “I’ve never really been, y’know, _allowed_ to roughhouse like that, that’s all…”

Aomine studied him curiously for a moment. He had always supposed that royals lived life completely free of worry or deprivation of any sort, but just then he understood that they lacked perhaps one of the most important things needed in a young adolescent’s life: genuine companionship. Perhaps that was why the eccentric blonde had found such a priceless friendship with the dragon, for it may very well have been the only true relationship he had ever had.

Aomine bit into the first rabbit again, tentatively, and twisted the other spit around his hand a few times. He grunted in indication before throwing it to Kise quite suddenly.

The blonde was stunned by the abruptness of the action, but caught it flawlessly and begun observing it immediately, wondering if Aomine had _poisoned_ the meat or something. When, upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, he raised his eyes to Aomine in askance.

“I’m not that hungry,” Aomine lied as explanation, keeping his eyes on the crackling fire, “and rabbit tastes like shit, anyway.”

Kise gaped at him in awe, but then gave another small smile. He shook his head as he bit off a measurable hunk of the greasy meat, making a satisfied noise in contented relish.

“Thank you, Aominecchi,” he said softly between chews, hoping the other understood that it was not just about the rabbit.

But alas, he had no way of knowing, for Aomine had turned his back to him as he ate, and only responded with the gruffest of responses, muffled by the mouthful of meat between his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Colrath, who had been observing the entire exchange from afar with a slightly cracked-open eye, snorted and grunted to itself, flicking its tail sleepily. It closed its eyes, ruffling the white frills around its neck, wondering if this new man was going to replace it as its master’s most beloved friend.

*******

The pain of his wrists as they strained against something hard and cold brought him to consciousness. His eyes flew open with a gasp, but he was fully aware of his situation.

The last thing Midorima Shintarou remembered was sparring with the commander of the Viridian army, and though he had been more proficient in skill, his opponent had had the advantage of numbers, and he simply had been unable to keep them all at bay.

Their animosity had been justified. What had confused him then was the commander’s words. 

_“Where is he? Where did you take him?”_

He had thought – with an initial douse of panic – that this had been in reference to Takao. But then it occurred to him that they would not have been as concerned about a Viridian civilian as they had been with a trained warrior from an enemy kingdom like he. It also dawned on him, with much relief, that the army had no plausible way of discovering their – _ahem_ – acquaintance… which led him to deduce that the commander had been talking about Aomine Daiki, who obviously must have left him to rot alone after fulfilling his assigned task.

 _“Returning to his homeland, I hope.”_ He had said bitterly, in reference to the fact that Aomine’s homeland was nothing but crumbled ruins. He hoped dearly that the other man would meet a similar fate.

He hadn’t gotten the reaction he had expected from the commander. Instead, his thick eyebrows had furrowed in anger, and he had begun attacking Midorima’s weakening form with renewed fervency.

 _“His_ homeland _? You_ still _dare to insult us? Kise-sama’s homeland is_ here!”

Midorima had found this immensely confusing, though he had retorted in kind, wheezing and panting from agony, injury and exhaustion alike. _“You fools. Your Kise-sama… is_ dead. _”_

He remembered nothing from beyond that point, so he assumed that he must have blacked out. However, it did nothing to ease his bewilderment about the issue at hand: the fact that the guards had been so riled, and yet had not managed to discover the prince’s body. Aomine had not been instructed to hide the corpse: it would not have occurred to the thick-headed swordsman to do so, anyway. So the only logical explanation would be, that…

_He’s gone missing._

And presumably, Aomine had gone with him, thus explaining their ignorance about the assassination attempt… which led to one sole, undisputable question:

_Why? Why would you do something so foolish, Aomine Daiki?_

Midorima narrowed his eyes in deep thought, and then winced upon making the miniscule movement, realizing that none of his wounds had been healed. The small flexing of his facial muscles required to twitch his eyes had left him with a searing pain on his forehead. This pain, now that he thought about it, echoed through every limb and tendon of his body; beads of sweat rolled off of the bare skin of his torso, seeping into his already burning wounds and making them flare up in more agony. His now tattered kimono pants hung loosely from his waist, and his arms _burned_ with strain, for his wrists had been shackled at a steep angle far above his head, and though his ankles were shackled in a considerably looser manner, he didn’t think that the agonizing position combined with his severe injuries would have allowed him to move them anyway.

The dungeon he was locked in was pitch black, aside from the dim light filtering in through the crack between the floor and the door: this light flickered and wavered lowly, emitting a crackling noise that echoed through the seemingly damp hallway outside, much like that of torchlight. But Midorima Shintaro was not immersed with observing the place of his capture. In fact, his thoughts were a thousand miles away from reality.

_Takao, did you get away?_

_Are you safe?_

_Perhaps if you had been caught, they might have had the decency to keep us in the same cell… that, at least, would be some comfort…_ and then he realized the hopeless disparity in his words, and felt a pang of loneliness almost as acutely painful as his physical state.

_Here I am again, Takao, allowing myself to ramble away like the idiot you always tell me I am._

Despite his miserable situation, he allowed himself half a smile.

_You have always brought out the worst in me, you fool._

But then his wrists clanged painfully against the shackles again, and he had to bite down on his already cut and bruised lip to inhibit the yelp of pain that clawed its way up his throat. The smile fell from his face quite pointedly, as did what little happiness that remained in the solemn man’s eyes.

It was very much believable that he would not get out of this situation alive. It did not matter whether the guards did not kill him or not, because his injuries would do the job for them before long, anyway.

He closed his eyes, welcoming the vast darkness of his mind much more than the claustrophobic gloominess of the room.

He had already doomed himself to die the moment he decided that Takao’s fate was more important than his own. What was the harm of sticking by his decision, then?

It was not his determination that filled him with such misery, he realized. It was the thought that he would have to inch his way towards death – an indisputable destination for one in a state as dire as he – with his hands and legs _literally_ tied behind his back, and hope that his sanity did not manage to escape the harsh reality of this world before his soul did.

*******

Exhaustion, thirst and hunger had overcome most of his senses, but Takao was vaguely aware of the fact that the inky blackness of the sky had faded away into dark hues of pink and blue. He faintly recalled that he had moved from the harsh conditions of the desert to the more forgiving grasslands of the subcontinent sometime during the night before, and so was ambiguously coherent of the fact that Agartha would be approaching soon. But he was weak from fatigue and starvation, and it took all his strength just to keep his fingers tightened on the reins.

His ashy hazel eyes were unfocused and distant; if he had been a little more sentient, he might have realized that the bulky gate leading into the kingdom of Agartha was quite close. In fact, the guards standing dutifully by this gate had already noticed the travel-worn rider coming their way.

The young men exchanged wary looks through the visor of their helmets, gripping their weapons despite the traveler’s exhausted state. They crouched low, their armor clattering, and held their stance steady in case they had to attack quickly.

“Halt!” One of them cried out. The traveler’s eyebrows knotted together in confusion, as if he was only barely conscious of the fact that somebody had addressed him.

However, the guards had no way of knowing the poor man’s state, and his blatant disregard for their command only served to worry them further. The traveler rode on, directly towards the gate. The guards shared a brief look of assent and then unsheathed their swords, readying themselves for the inevitable attack.

What nobody realized was the fact that the horse was also quite exhausted after such a rigorous, non-stop ride through the desert, and perhaps the poor animal felt that it had suffered enough, for as soon as it laid its eyes upon the sharp blades the warriors wielded, it gave a mighty neigh and skidded to an abrupt halt, knees buckling with exhaustion.

This proved to be the limiting point for the travel-ridden Takao Kazunari as well, for his hands loosened themselves from the reins, and he slid over the side of the horse, ending up in a messy heap on the grassy ground. The guards did not seem bothered by this development, and they were about to lunge when a deep voice called out from atop the gate tower, stopping them.

“Wait.”

The guards, upon recognizing the voice, dutifully but reluctantly sheathed their swords back in their scabbards. They looked up a bit nervously as a hulking giant of a man leapt down in a surprisingly agile somersault onto the grass. Unbeknownst to them, the keeper of the Agarthan gates, a certain Nebuya Eikichi, had been watching the entire exchange from one of the gate towers. He had the inkling of a thought that this traveler might be the _important figure_ the king had commanded him to keep an eye on in their diurnal meeting that morning.

Nebuya lumbered forward, raising his eyebrows at the man’s sorry state. He crouched down near the figure and commanded of him gently, though his natural masculinity made him come off as rather gruff:

“Tell me who you are.”

He could see the traveler’s cracked and dried lips quiver. He squinted up at him dazedly, and Nebuya felt as if that he understood how the man was _this_ close to passing out from exhaustion. Taking pity on the poor man, he reiterated his question a bit gentler, this time lowering his head until his ear was barely inches from the traveler’s chapped lips.

“Tell me. We will help.”

He heard the man’s agitated breathing: he truly was on his very last leg. Then, finally, slowly, his lips moved and began to take shape, quietly mouthing out enough sounds for him to confirm that this was no ordinary traveler.

“Mi… do… ri… ma…” he coughed weakly, “Shin… ta… rou…”

“Right, that’ll do.” He said, grinning widely.

A second later, he had heaved the man up onto his shoulders and signaled with his hands to open the gates. He whooshed out an excited breath, and begun to stalk forward hastily as soon as the gates opened. He instructed the other two gatekeepers to take care of the exhausted equestrian before entering within the city limits, and then immediately begun looking around for a ride of his own. He had to hurry, because Akashi-sama would want to see this man immediately.

*******

“Psst, Aominecchi.”

Aomine stirred in his sleep, frowning. After their brief tenure with the rabbits, they had each went to sleep well after midnight, and had planned to rise quite late in the morning instead of at the crack of dawn. His internal clock told him that it couldn’t possibly have been much longer after daybreak, and anyway, why was it that Kise managed to find a way to disturb him from his repose every single time he closed his eyes?

_God damn, can’t this brat get by without me for even a minute?_

“Aominecchi, please, _please_ get up,” He felt a hand on his shoulder now, shaking him vigorously. Aomine scowled to himself, his irritation mounting. He was fully awake now, but just out of spite, he kept his eyes closed so as to teach the annoying blonde a lesson. He was not about to ruin his sleep just to waste a few minutes looking at _yet_ another ridiculously woven flower laurel.

“Aominecchi, it’s important…” Kise’s voice held urgency, but then his voice got all strangely dry and trailed off uneasily. Aomine frowned, thinking that this was highly uncharacteristic, but it was just then that his trained ears caught a sound he could not mistake for anything else – and his heart began to race upon realizing what it was.

Footsteps.

Aomine opened his eyes, sitting up in alarm. He opened his mouth in order to warn Kise, but only ended up having to stifle a startled yell, realizing far, _far_ too late that the blonde must have understood how dire the situation actually was.

The world had collapsed into a few feet of his periphery, for he found himself face-to-face with the tip of a pointed spear. Beyond the sharp blade, a pair of electric blue eyes glared down at him with pure contempt, belonging to a face framed with spiky black hair, twisted with loathing. He wore armor, and encrusted onto the metal was a symbol he recognized immediately.

_Shit… that’s the royal Viridian insignia…_

A billion things raced through his mind at that instant. He berated himself for being so careless, berated _Kise_ for not being as clear about what the problem actually had been, berated _Colrath,_ that stupid dragon, for not using its usual smarts to realize that it was essential that they take flight if an enemy approached. He bemoaned quite a number of things in that split-second, but what rang through his head with the most clearance, with almost a Shakespearean level of articulation, was one significant, expressive, resounding phrase:

_What… the fuck?_

The unfamiliar assailant’s eyes remained cold and unfeeling as he stared down at Aomine, evidently unaware of his emotional turmoil, but then his lips morphed into a triumphant smirk clearly upon seeing the disbelief etched upon Aomine’s face.

“Found you… _cunt_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUN
> 
> What's going to happen next? Do stay tuned for next week! Please review~


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